


The Me In Monogamy

by Davechicken, ElDiablito_SF



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Set post 9x10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-08 21:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unexpected complications leave Castiel's vessel badly damaged and force him to consider some pretty drastic measures, which involve accepting help from an unconventional source. (It's Crowley...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

If there was a way in Heaven, Hell, or bloody Purgatory to fix this, Crowley was going to find it. It was a matter of pride, actually. He was a problem solver, a deal maker, a closer. People came to him with complicated problems, which often times required some serious out of the box creative solution-making, and he delivered. For a modest fee, of course. Which, to be fair, was the crux of the problem here.

How was he supposed to fix Cas without soul magic?

Because he wasn’t going to take Castiel’s soul (even if it had been on offer, which it hadn’t). You have to draw the line _somewhere_. 

It would have been easier, however, if perhaps someone _else_ had offered one up. He had secretly hoped for Dean’s, although outloud he would insist that nothing so stained and putrid would ever suffice in order to restore a dying angel. He might have even considered Sam’s, although his inner compass of fairness had gone haywire in protest, insisting that no one should have to do time in Hell having been stuck in the cage with Michael and Lucifer for a year. But it was irrelevant, since neither of the Winchesters were ponying up, and Cas would never accept, even if peeps had been made (which they hadn’t, and Crowley took note - apparently the Winchesters souls were only reserved for each other, or, at best, all of humanity - boring, yawn).

In the meantime, it was painfully clear that Castiel was going to expire, and iminently. Which meant that they were rapidly running out of time to find a solution to this annoying problem of _mortality_.

And Crowley would be damned, re-damned, blessed, whatever, if he was going to sit idly by and watch his fremesis breathe his final breath.

***

Castiel first noticed that something was wrong when two of Bartholomew’s men came for him when he was alone with Sam. He had promised Dean to watch over the convalescent hunter, which should have been fairly uneventful, until, of course, the civil war came knocking on his door. He had wondered idly why both factions couldn’t simply reconcile their differences based on their firm mutual desire to kill him. The Winchesters were his family now. Perhaps not a great one, certainly not the smartest one judging by a certain elder brother’s recent actions, but a family he fiercely loved nevertheless.

And he would kill to protect.

Which was exactly what he did when the angels attacked him. Except… Something wasn’t quite right. He could feel it, roiling deep in the pit of his stomach. The wrongness of it. The way it had burned him when he tried to summon up the angelic light.

It was Miriam who had finally explained it to him. She had joined Malachi’s side, but Castiel and Miriam had known each other since the invertebrate days on Earth. She was a benevolent angel, perhaps one of the remaining few, and he didn’t want her to end up dead like the rest of them. So he had spared her, and in exchange, she had told him what was wrong with him.

“It’s Theo’s Grace. It’s an incredibly poor fit for your vessel. The longer you hold on to it, the more damage you’re causing. Irreparable damage.”

Irreparable damage was something Castiel was very familiar with causing. He let Miriam go on a promise that she wouldn’t reveal his location to the others. He knew there was still a chance that she might break her word, or worse, reveal his location under torture, but he counted on the fact that it would probably be too late. 

Either way it would be too late.

After he tore Theo’s Grace out of himself, he had lost consciousness from the pain. By the time Sam found him and dragged him into one of the bunker bedrooms, he was running a high fever. That was the state in which Dean and Crowley had found him when they had returned from their trip three days later.

***

“What the hell happened, Sam?” Dean’s voice was so raw that his younger brother almost forgot to protest his innocence. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your perspective), the ruckus had apparently made Cas stir and moan in his sleep and generally toss about the bed, creating a small maelstrom of sheets and blankets and tufts of hair.

It was unbearable to watch. Crowley felt his fists clench and unclench feverishly. He was fine when they left, wasn’t he? Surely, this was somehow Dean’s fault. It was _always_ somehow Dean’s fault (when it wasn’t Moose’s fault).

“What happened, Dean,” Crowley interjected before the taller Winchester could get a word in edgeways, “was the same thing that always happens. Yet again you’ve pushed someone to breaking point in the great big Winchester Love Story where you _use_ everyone until they’re utterly spent because it suits your narrative. How, exactly, did you let Cas burn himself almost to nothing? Don’t you have eyes? Or do you simply not care that you pushed him to breaking point? Are you actually stupid or just plain heartless?”

“Are you done?” Dean stepped too close into Crowley’s personal space, his nostrils flaring. “Because if you’re quite finished being enamoured with the sound of your own voice, perhaps there’s something we can try to actually _do_ about this.” He veered towards his younger brother. “Do you know what did this to him, Sammy?”

“One minute he was fine,” Sam started before the seething demon could lay into Dean again, “the next he just… I found him passed out. I have no idea what happened, but Crowley said he’s back to human again. Dean… there was nothing I could do. I swear.” Sam stared at Cas, fretting. Their on-again-off-again angel was looking like he could smell a Reaper, and Sam felt helpless. 

“That so?” Dean turned towards Crowley. “He’s human? Like… mortal? Like… expiration date again?” He walked over to the bed and stoically tried to untangle Castiel’s limbs from the small tornado of sheets his flailing had created. “Christ, look at him,” Dean muttered, licking his suddenly incredibly parched lips.

Cas looked pale. More than pale, really, closer to gray. The skin around his eyes looked practically translucent, dark circles starkly outlining the sunken contours of his once too-bright orbs. Dean didn’t need to touch him to be able to see that he was drenched in sweat.

“Dammit,” he bit out and looked towards the demon with a flickering of hope. “Can you help him?”

Can. Not ‘will’. Can. Of course, he had to be able to do it before being willing would even become an issue, Crowley thought, and he narrowed his own eyes at Dean. The damage to the vess-- to the _body_ was extensive and deep. Not regular sickness or injury, it was the ‘Heaven burning through flesh and ruining it’ type. The last time Crowley had seen anything close to this had been Lucifer. (And he’d tried to stay as _far_ as demonly possible away from Lucifer, as he valued his continued existence). 

“There might be a way,” Crowley said, reluctantly. It was Castiel, after all. And Crowley had cultivated his relationship with the once-angel more extensively than he had with any other. It would take time and effort to break someone else in the same way. (If he even wanted to.)

“Okay, so do it,” Dean demanded. He had sat down on the bed, his hand absentmindedly carding through Castiel’s unruly hair, trying to soothe his feverish dreams. “I’m not gonna watch him die. Not again. Not after…” Not after Kevin too. Not after everything. Who else did he have to lose?

“I’m going to need you both to leave, then,” Crowley said. He was aiming for aloof and clinical, and not ‘bitch, please get the hell out of here, you arrogant dickwad’ and was pleased when it came out somewhere halfway between.

“Whatever you need to do, you can do with me here,” Dean huffed.

“When you are the expert on saving people from angelic vessel damage, I will bow to your superior knowledge. But as you asked _me_ for help, you can damn well clear the room like I asked you to.”

“Now listen here--”

Sam grabbed hold of Dean’s shoulder. “Dean. C’mon. If Crowley needs us out, we go out. You know we can’t do anything to fix him ourselves, and the longer we wait the more likely it is--”

Sam never got to finish that line, though, because Dean shrugged him off forcefully with a glower. And then his anger turned on Crowley.

Crowley simply folded his arms over his chest and lifted his chin.

“ **Fine** ,” Dean snapped. “But I’m right outside. And if you… if you _don’t_ save him--”

“Yes, yes, the burning hellfire of damnation, and a pox upon my finely tailored suits, and a curse on all the firstborns or whatever else you choose. Dean? Now is the time you leave.”

They left, but not without slamming the door so forcefully it would likely have woken the dead. Ironically, Crowley observed, it had no effect on Castiel. The King of Hell sighed and sat down onto the bed (the opposite side from the one Dean had originally chosen, naturally).

So, there they were. No soul magic. One rapidly deteriorating former angel trapped in a rotting mortal coil. One very peeved, slightly unwillingly humanized demon. And a question that needed to be asked. It was only polite. 

But there was more. He needed to speak to Castiel. He needed to wake him up. The angel might have been ravaged beyond fixing, but this much he could do. He could awaken him, if only for a few minutes. It would have to be sufficient.

***

Everything hurt. Even things he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before hurt. Cas was convinced that his spleen, appendix and every single bit of his intestines were on fire, or tied into a knot, or were tied into a flaming knot. And he was tired. So very tired. The kind of tired that no amount of sleep could cure. He could hear his name being repeated from somewhere distant, but he didn’t want to answer. He batted out ineffectually, groaning his way into consciousness like a reluctant teen.

And when he surfaced, he found himself lying on a bed somewhere - oh, the bunker? - and he blinked the fuzziness until it resolved into features that made sense.

“Crowley?” he asked. Well. Rasped. His throat was parched and his mouth felt like he’d been licking things which no man should approach with his tongue. Ever. “How did I get here?”

“The Moose found you in this state,” Crowley explained. “Graceless - again - and on the brink of death. There something you’d like to tell me, Cas?”

Cas licked his lips, the dry cracks of them the texture of sandpaper.

“I gambled, I lost,” he sighed. Crowley’s face was somehow comforting. “I tore out the Grace that I had stolen, but it was too late. I think I’m dying, Crowley. You get to take me on another tour of Hell soon.” His eyelids hurt and were much too heavy to endure being left in this open position.

“You’re a damned fool at times, you know that? Why in the Hell did you think you could _steal_ a Grace without consequences? Scratch that. It’s done. But I’m sure as Hell not going to let you duck out of life that easily.” Crowley chewed at his lip, fretting. He put his hand on Cas’ forehead - taking more than just his temperature in through his senses - and wondering what power in the universe (short of God himself) could undo damage even Lucifer couldn’t cure. 

Well. It couldn’t be angel-magic, could it? Or Lucifer would have managed it. And without access to the arsenal of soul-bartering… Crowley could think of only one thing powerful enough to keep that body going. 

“Cas… you’re dying. I guess you know that. I mean - really dying. And there’s only one thing I can think of right now to keep that from happening. But you’re probably not going to like it.”

“You look… concerned.” Cas furrowed his brow and reached out towards the demon hovering over him. If anything, Crowley should have looked gleeful, or at the very least mildly smug. “Are you… trying to help me?” His brain was probably half way molten by the fever, but by all accounts, that seemed to be the most likely explanation. And that was no explanation at all. Sure, Cas had brokered the deal that had freed Crowley from the dungeon, but it was a tiny drop in the ocean of their historic… well… everything.

“No, I came here to gloat and watch you scream your way into the pit… yes I am here to help, you ignorant defeathered dick.” Crowley was feeling rather rationally angry with the whole situation. He put his hand over Cas’, without even thinking about it. “I can’t just snap my fingers and fix you. Believe me I wish it was that simple. You’re a mess, kitten. And the only thing I can think would work, is if I hop up in that meatsuit of yours and fiddle with the knobs and buttons from the inside. Which… I can understand if you say no… but it’s honestly the only option I have to offer you right now. So. What do you say?”

He felt stupid even offering. ‘Please let me possess you’. Yes. That sounded so great. It wasn’t like Crowley was an angel who would have to leave if asked to, but he supposed the Winchesters would always be on hand to bloody exorcise him or otherwise make his life a living Hell if things didn’t go right. But Cas was dying and Crowley was… Crowley was desperate.

“That’s a temporary solution, at best, you know that,” Cas replied with the look of a man who was seriously considering the offer. Crowley felt his eye twitch. “Demons can’t heal from the inside. Best case scenario is you just keep this body going until we find a more permanent solution. Which…” Cas stopped abruptly. “Wait. You don’t need my permission to possess me. I don’t have an anti-possession tattoo.” Dumb, actually, while they were on the subject of listing the ways in which Castiel had failed as a human.

“While technically true, I’m not the sort to randomly jump from body to body,” Crowley said with a huff. Not _all_ demons did that. Okay. Most of them did. “And do you really think I would last an hour if I stole your body against your will? Dean would tear Heaven and Hell apart just to vaporise me.” And also, though he wouldn’t say it, I respect you too much for that, and where would the fun be in raping the hell out of his body? Crowley was _not_ the type to enjoy that, regardless of his quips and innuendo. Demon or not, he had standards. 

“So…” Castiel still looked strangely receptive to the whole idea. “What about this body? You seem fond of it.” His fingers curled around Crowley’s wrist. He hadn’t really thought of it before, but that was the only meatsuit he’d ever known Crowley in. Peculiar, for a demon. “And would I still be conscious if you were um… you know… inside me?” He knew the answer to his last question, had Crowley been your average run of the mill demon, but this was the King of Hell. And was he seriously considering going through with this?

“Well, I would need to keep this thing,” Crowley brushed his hands over the front of his jacket, conscientiously, “safe. Ideally somewhere no one would poach or dismember it. I do like it best of all the meatsuits I’ve had over the years. Really feels like… home? You know?” 

The demon’s tongue stole out over his lips. “And yes. You could be. Unless you wanted not to be. I could let you see everything you wanted to - even still talk to people - so you wouldn’t be comatose. Might take a bit of getting used to or working out some ground rules but… you never know, maybe having a roommate could be an interesting change of pace?”

“Wait,” Cas ran his hand up Crowley’s sleeve. “Isn’t there um… another guy in there?” He poked Crowley in the chest.

He was probably asking too many questions and would die because his curiosity would get the better of him. It would be fitting, he figured.

“Not any more,” Crowley said, with as little smugness as he could manage (which was not easy). “Took this as part and parcel of a deal, once. When his ten years were up I took his soul down below and moved in. Means I don’t get any annoying background whining, and I get a body that’s perfectly suited to me. It _is_ very dashing, don’t you agree?” He was preening, but he couldn’t help himself. It had been a bit of a masterstroke, after all.

“It does… suit you,” Castiel smiled. “And you’re willing to give it up for a chance to _maybe_ keep me alive longer? This begs the question, and I can’t believe I haven’t asked yet: _why_?”

Before Crowley could respond, Cas was wrecked by another conflagration of what felt like infernal flames licking at him from the inside. He cried out and nearly flung himself off the bed, only to end up somehow curled up in Crowley’s arms. He shut his eyes against the thoughts in his head - but they were clear now. He _was_ going to let Crowley in. And he was going to do it because…

“I trust you,” he whispered, weakly. “I know Dean might think I’m crazy, but I do.”

“You are crazy,” Crowley agreed, “but this won’t be the most insane thing you do. Believe me.” Cas was an awful mess. The longer they dragged this out, the worse he was going to be. He could already sense the imminent collapse, and this conversation was going on way longer than it needed to. Crowley _itched_ to be doing something to help. Something. Anything. Just not… watching Cas die much sooner than he had any damn right to. “Is there… is there anything you want to say first, or should I…?”

And now he found himself momentarily shy. It was quite one thing to consider this rationally, quite another to realise he was going to have to briefly leave his (very familiar, very perfect) home and then move on into someone else’s head. Where they would be privy to things whether he wanted them to be or not. It wasn’t like you could share a body without risking the odd stray thought being read, right? No. No time for second thoughts. Cas was dying and Crowley was _not_ going to allow it. No. They had too much to do, still. Much too much.

“Just… do it. Please,” Cas said, grabbing at Crowley’s arm. He couldn’t recall ever feeling this much pain and he didn’t want to consider what a state his insides must be in. He’d made the decision, and the sooner they went ahead and did it and stopped thinking about it the better.

Crowley nodded and pushed Cas back onto the bed carefully. “Okay. It might tickle a little. And I haven’t actually… well. Done _this_ before, so…” 

“I’m your first?” Cas asked with a tiny, sly smile.

“Not my first possession, but the first time I’ve let them backchat me,” Crowley said with an eyeroll. “Here goes nothing…”

The demon scooted onto the bed, too, lying alongside Cas. When he left it, it was going to be utterly bereft of consciousness and he didn’t want it to clatter to the floor and cause bruising or blunt force trauma. Crowley made sure the meatsuit was ready and then…

...he opened up the body’s mouth and _let go_ of his hold within. It felt very strange to be doing this in front of Castiel, because he rarely hopped from one body to another, and even less commonly came out for any other reason. The red smoke that was the remnants of his Hell-skewed soul rushed out with a little gasp, and then he nudged against Castiel’s chapped lips. For a moment he worried Cas wouldn’t let him in, or would change his mind, or… something… but then that mouth of his opened wide and with a _rush_ and a whisper of power he slid into the remainder of what once had been Jimmy Novak, and more recently had been Castiel the angel-human-angel-human.


	2. Chapter 2

When Castiel opened his eyes, his first thought was that it didn’t work. But then he realized his insides were no longer on fire. And then he tried to move.

“Where do you think you’re going, you dimwit?” Crowley’s voice sounded inside his own head, except for the fact that it had actually come out of his mouth in…. Castiel’s voice. “Don’t be trying to roll over that way, you’ll crush my precious meatsuit with your fat arse.”

“What the… what. You’re inside me. This is… this is what it feels like,” Cas said, or rather thought, or rather communicated in whatever way it was that Crowley had allowed their consciousness to be linked. “Why can’t I move?”

“Because you’re trying to go one way, and I’m trying to go another, and between the two of us we’re at an impasse,” Crowley explained. 

“Oh,” Cas tried to tilt his head and again did not succeed. “So… um… should I just stop trying to move then, so that we could do something?”

“If you ever want to make it out of bed then I would suggest that’s a yes,” Crowley answered. “And much as I enjoy lounging at the right moment, now is not the right moment. You smell of fighting and sickness and I insist we clean this body right this instant.”

“You just got up into me and now you feel dirty. Gee, thanks, Crowley.” Castiel pouted… mentally. “Also, my ass is not fat!”

“Oh, we’re really going to measure relative ass-size?” Crowley swung Castiel’s legs over the side of the bed and sat up awkwardly. He nearly over-balanced, because he wasn’t used to where the center of gravity sat, and because the body was still in relatively poor shape inside and it would take a lot to keep it going. “Come on. If we’re going to make this work then you’re going to have to accept that I’ll take good care of your over-sized frame.” 

He stood up and promptly banged against the bedside cabinet. “Ow. Fuck!”

“Watch it with my body there, Crowley! There isn’t much of a point in entrusting it to you if you’re just going to walk into walls or off cliffs or whatever.”

“It’s too… how do you even _exist_ like this?” Crowley grumbled, getting the meatsuit under control at last. “Everything is much too far away. It’s going to take some getting used to where everything ends…” 

“You make me sound like some Gigantopithecus. Which I’m not. They’re extinct,” Cas offered, helpfully.

He… they... wandered into the ensuite adjoining the bathroom and then he suddenly froze with his hands at his collar. 

“Cas… really? I need to take these off if you don’t want to have a very _interesting_ shower, which will then necessitate me removing _wet_ clothes instead of dry ones.”

“I… close your eyes,” Cas protested weakly.

“Close my… _kitten_ ,” Crowley was exasperated. “How am I supposed to spend any length of time in this body if you’re going to be prudish about it? Unless you have some horribly disfiguring birthmark, you likely won’t have anything I haven’t seen a hundred times over. Now is not the time to be prudish about things. Let go of the hands and let Daddy take our clothes off.”

Cas pouted and whimpered a bit… all mentally, of course. The fact that Crowley could sense it made the matter all the more undignified. 

“No. You’re right. I’m sorry. Here. You drive.” Cas relented and tried to relax into the ‘back seat’ of his own body. 

It was interesting, to say the least, that shift. One moment you feel like you’re boxed in and trying to claw your way out, and the next you’re looking at yourself but with someone else’s eyes. It’s almost like you’re seeing yourself for the first time, or at least from that angle. But he didn’t feel shy anymore. He… he felt _hot_.

“What? You think this vessel is hot?” Cas asked from the back seat, more intrigued than outraged.

“I-- what?” Crowley asked, flustered. The body - _their_ body - flushing pink in the cheeks as his hands paused in their disrobing only briefly. Damn it. That was going to be an issue if the formerly feathery dick decided to take advantage of Crowley’s better nature and snoop around in his thoughts and feelings. “Of course it’s an attractive body,” he said, instead, like he hadn’t been caught perving over it from the inside. “You already know that. I’ve told you often enough.”

The shirt came off, and then he was working on pants, socks, boxers… everything had to come off and fast and with the least amount of creepiness possible. Body violator Crowley might not be (in spirit), but utterly indifferent to physical beauty? No one could accuse him of that.

“It had been alluded to,” Cas allowed casually. “But one can’t really believe everything one hears. This is… so much more real. It’s quite intimate. You didn’t tell me it was going to feel like this.” Cas closed his eyes (so to speak) and concentrated on the casual slide of Crowley’s/his own fingers along his skin. “Um… so about that shower, we should get on that. Yes.”

“I told you. Normally I just… take an empty body or take over,” Crowley grumbled. “This isn’t exactly a common arrangement, you know. And beggars can’t be choosers.” Still. He could feel Cas’ attention span honing in on the feel of his/their fingers pushing back clothing, dropping it to the ground indecorously and leaving him bare to the elements.

Well. He might very well have to be in here for a while. Crowley peered down curiously, eyeing his new frame. The chest was hairless and the dusky little nipples were pert and perfectly formed. He glanced lower and was even more pleased to see that this vessel really was a sturdy and good one. In all departments. And also, apparently, a responsive one if the vaguely tingly feeling in his crotch was anything to go by. Crowley couldn’t quite tell if the vessel was turned on because he was looking at it, or because Cas knew he was looking at it, or because Crowley knew Cas knew he… it was all rather complicated and it was making him steadily more aroused and that was just fucking with his brain to the nth degree.

“Well, you _are_ in proportion,” Crowley said, letting his approval show in the downright _lewd_ way he twisted the vessel’s low voice. “Cas. You’ve been holding out on the world.”

“Are you checking out my…” He felt weird talking about it. Because it wasn’t really _his_ anymore. “Junk?” Cas decided using Dean’s name for it somehow made it better. “Come on, stop making a big deal about it…”

“A ‘big deal’? Castiel… you minx. It _is_ a big deal. And I think it’s checking _me_ out. Well hello, sailor. Aren’t you a spry one?” Crowley chuckled and walked (a little stiffly) over to turn the shower on. The sooner he could get in and covered in soap and smelling clean and feeling soft and all the other things the better.

“Don’t touch it!” Cas admonished from within. He wasn’t sure if he should feel embarrassed at his vessel’s apparent state of semi-arousal, because he wasn’t sure exactly which one of them was responsible for it. Nevertheless, there it was. A situation, it had arisen. The shower wasn’t cold enough. 

“I’m going to have to clean it, you know.” The shower was decent, and Crowley thanked whatever was listening for the very agreeable water pressure again. He hopped in, and grabbed the shower gel from the side of the bath. He wrinkled his nose at the choice - probably a Dean Winchester special, judging by the atrocious generic shit - and squeezed some into his palm. “Don’t worry. It’s perfectly natural. And of course it’s interested… it likes being appreciated by a connoiseur. It’s bound to be pleased to see me.”

“Stop talking about it like it has a mind of its own. _It_ doesn’t like _anything_.” Of course, then Castiel had to stop speaking because if _It_ really held no sway in the discussion, then one of _them_ was responsible. And it was just too early in this arrangement to contemplate such possibilities.

Distantly, Cas heard a knock on the bedroom door.

“Cas!”

 _Shit_.

The knocking and the voice got closer.

“Cas, you in there?”

“What do we do? What do we do?” Cas panicked from the back seat. The sudden fear of getting caught _like that_ washed over him. If Dean had objected years ago to Castiel being essentially business partners with Crowley, what would he do now if he walked in to… well… find Crowley inside Cas?

“Cas! Dammit. I’m coming in!”

Crowley was going to answer, but apparently Dean didn’t consider privacy to be paramount anymore. Plus, if the dick was going to barge in on people after he’d been told to stay well clear, he deserved whatever mental trauma he got. 

“In here, Dean,” he called out using Castiel’s voice, but his own accent and tone. “You really don’t have any concept of personal space, do you?”

Said the demon who was currently stark bollock naked in the shower, waving an inappropriately phallic and soapy loofah around and grinning.

“Cas?” Dean squinted suspiciously. Since when was _Cas_ one to complain about personal space violation? “Are you… okay, man? And what the hell did you do to Crowley?” He pointed backwards, presumably towards the abandoned body on the bed.

“You really are as thick as two short planks at times, Squirrel,” Crowley chided. Then he added, “Oh… alright then…” and he lowered the loofah so it mostly blocked the confused boner they were sporting.

“Crowley?” Dean’s eyes got really wide and he immediately reached into his back pocket for the knife, only to realize he wasn’t carrying it. “You get the hell out of him, you rapey bastard!”

“Dean, stop!” Cas finally managed to break through (his own stupor more so than the actual control of his lips). “You don’t understand - I allowed this. He’s helping me.” Cas paused to make sure it was sinking in and that Dean wasn’t going to accidentally murder them both. “Also I’m naked and trying to take a shower. Could we perhaps discuss this some other time? Perhaps, when I’m less naked? And more dry?”

“Yes,” Cas’ voice went on, but in the other tone that indicated it wasn’t him speaking. “Either get in or get out. You know, you could always help me wash our back. There’s a lot more to this body than there is to my own. It’s very… _large_ ,” he said, pointedly. And smirked.

Dean grabbed on to the counter in horror.

“Ew… how…. Ugh. HOW ARE YOU BOTH IN THERE?” He had simultaneously warring desires to run away and to keep staring.

“It’s not _that_ large, Crowley!” Cas’ voice protested, now in his own cadences. “Stop making me sound like some kind of a Yeti!”

“It’s simple, really, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Dean, so I won’t bother explaining. And speaking of Yetis, if you’re like this, it does beg the question of the Moose. Does he have Moose-sized junk? Dean… enquiring minds want to know….” Crowley mused, using the loofah to rub over his chest while Cas was too distracted to keep their hands over their crotch.

“There’s not enough bleach for my brain,” Dean stuttered and slowly backed out of the bathroom.

“I doubt it would help,” Crowley threw after him. “But there’s some under the kitchen sink, I know. You could try applying it through the ear.”

***

“I _have_ to put this in a safe place, kitten, there’s just no other way around it,” Crowley was saying, looking down at his lifeless meatsuit. “You can take a nap in there, if you like, while I pop on down below. I know Hell isn’t exactly your ideal destination spot.”

“Why can’t we just leave it here?” Castiel frowned from within.

“Look, you might be enamoured with the Losechesters regardless of what they do to you, but I have what they call ‘survival instincts.’ And I’m taking my favorite outfit home. Like I said, if you don’t like it, take a break.”

“No,” Castiel sighed with resignation. “A good friend once said to me, ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’”

“And then you killed him,” Crowley said with a bit of awe, that knowledge bleeding through from Cas to him unbidden. He’d wondered what had become of Balthazar - _there_ was an angel with impeccable taste and a flare for the sardonic that Crowley could truly get behind. Too bad Cas killed him. On the other hand, it was nice to know he wasn’t the only one Cas had stabbed in the back.

“Stop thinking that. It’s horrible,” Cas wilted.

“Sorry, darling. Although you’ve got to realize, makes me feel quite a bit better about myself, knowing that you let me go while you stabbed your fellow angel to death.”

“He betrayed me,” Cas said quietly and then looked up. 

He had become too distracted to realize they were already in Hell, Crowley’s vessel tucked safely in their arms. He didn’t recognize the corridors Crowley was taking and had no idea where he was going, but he could tell by the smell and the vibrations in the air that they were indeed in Hell. He thought about the last time he had been there, also with Crowley, and a wave of regret threatened to subsume him.

“Cas, get a grip. Your _feels_ right now are preventing me from being able to get where we need to be.”

That was the difference at the time, wasn’t it? Balthazar had betrayed him and Crowley hadn’t. Ironic to consider, of course, was the fact that only one of them likely had Castiel’s own personal best interests at heart.

“Hey! That smarts!” Crowley snapped, ducking into a hidden room. Castiel had no idea where he even saw a door or a portal.

“Now, just because you feel guilty about slaying your brother in arms, doesn’t mean that… Well, yes. I suppose you _would_ think of me that way. Helps you live with your own betrayal.” Crowley huffed and placed the lifeless body in their arms down on a long slab of stone. 

_Keep it cool_ , he reminded himself. Castiel hadn’t learned how to hide his thoughts from him yet, but Crowley had to be careful about what he chose to reveal to the angel. And this little trip down memory lane was hitting a little too close to home. Perhaps it was time to make Cas pass out in there, whether he wanted to or not.

“Are those Fergus’ bones?” Castiel asked, noticing a stronghold next to the body.

“Okay, that’s it. You’re going to sleep.”

It simply wouldn’t do to be sharing all his biggest secrets with the angel. Castiel might have trusted Crowley (Lucifer only knew why!), but that didn’t mean that Crowley had to suddenly become insensate to intelligible thought.

“Crowley! That’s not fair! You said we could share. You can’t go knocking me out inside my own head whenever you feel like it!”

“Well I underestimated my need for privacy,” he huffed. “I’m doing this for _your_ benefit, after all. The very least you can do is not pry.” Ugh, he hated it when the celestial brat appealed to his sense of fairness and justice.

“I’m not prying,” Cas muttered, feeling strangely chastised. There was no reason for him to feel guilty; it wasn’t as if he could just simply _not_ pay attention to his surroundings, just because he was letting someone else motor his body all over the universe and its underbelly. Although, it was also possible that wasn’t what he was feeling guilty about. Something about Hell that definitely did not agree with his disposition.

“I’ll be as fast as I can be. And don’t worry, I won’t do anything you’d disapprove of. Just… have a lie down and don’t worry your pretty little head any, angel.” And then he snuffed Castiel’s consciousness down into a restful corner.

The better to make sure his favourite meatsuit was fine, and then ensure that Hell would continue to tick over if he was managing it long-distance. 

That and think about what he’d done. Because he hadn’t, really, since he’d hopped from one set of the Emperor’s new clothes to another. He’d just coasted blithely on with a wink and a smile because it was easier that way. He still wasn’t entirely sure why he’d suggested this arrangement, because superficially he had much less to gain from it than Castiel did, and when the ex-angel considered that for long enough he was going to work it out, too. And as Dean would no doubt have told Sam, the smarter of the two brothers back at Mission Control would click also.

His fingers drummed over the surface of the offending stronghold. Why, exactly, had he done it? He could lie and say it gave him an ‘IOU’ from both the Winchester brats and Castiel, to be claimed in full at some future point in time, but really? Would they? He was sure Dean would happily forget a favour owed (he made that clear last time he had risked life and limb for the Moose). Sam might be a little more inclined to owe him, recent developments considered, but Sam had also nearly tortured him into mundane humanity again, and even had a handy little .44 calibre love-letter ready as the encore. And Cas?

Cas had already betrayed him once. Quite rudely and unfairly. In fact **very** rudely and unfairly. And Crowley was going to need to work out a way to school his thoughts a bit better if they were going to play tag-team out in the big bad world. He wasn’t going to get away with sending him to timeout or the naughty corner every time they got too close to a touchy subject. Therein lay a world of hurt.

It was just that whenever Crowley thought too long about Castiel, it was this confusing mix of regret, a painful awareness of lost potential and a burning pit of ‘you betrayed me’ that never really resolved itself into ‘and so you must die’. No. Instead he was bending over backwards for no real reason just to make sure he _didn’t_ die. And ‘because I occasionally enjoy snarking with you, or admiring your body’ didn’t come close to explaining why.

Crowley rubbed a hand over his face, and jumped a little when he felt unfamiliar lips against his fingers. Lips, jaw, stubble. None of it his own. He ran his tongue over those lips curiously, wondering how long it would take for it to feel right again. And hoping he didn’t actually need to be in long enough to find out.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley was leafing slowly through one of the books he’d sneaked from the bunker’s library, sniggering at all the factual inaccuracies and taking a few ideas for future use, when he felt Castiel slowly stirring to consciousness. Cas still needed the time ‘off’ to process things, though he didn’t sleep the full eight hours because the vessel - body - whatever - didn’t need it with Crowley in. He put the bookmark into place and laid the volume down on his chest.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Crowley purred at him, amused by the groggy but warm feeling Cas seemed to radiate.

The answer wasn’t entirely a linguistically sound, but Crowley got the sense of it. He closed his eyes and decided to let Cas slide back into wakefulness slowly.

Oh. _Oh_. It wasn’t the only warm feeling. Crowley’s eyes flew open as he felt a gradual, familiar heat spreading between his legs. He shifted slightly under the duvet and let his mind drift into easy, formless arousal. “It _is_ a good morning, after all.”

Castiel wasn’t certain what he had been dreaming about, but he could feel a certain sense of urgency and warmth spreading through his limbs as he woke and slowly allowed his mind to catch up with the proceedings. He was in bed. Well, they were. His limbs still felt far away and his brain was in that soft afterglow of sleep during which your senses melt into one another and the state of wakefulness simply becomes the extension of your dream. And by the aforementioned extension, Castiel reached his hand out and down to the place where the urgency and warmth felt strongest. His morning wood.

Crowley let Cas take motor control for the time being, because fuck but it felt nice to have someone reach between his - their? - thighs and put a heavy, warm palm over the thickening erection there. If he didn’t think too hard, then it felt like he was being caressed instead of it feeling like he was doing it to himself. Admittedly it wasn’t his usual dick, but that was neither here nor there. Crowley felt their body’s breath catch and their erection stiffen further, the slightly voyeuristic thrill of seeing and feeling how Cas would pleasure himself making this better. Did he always wake up hard? What did he fantasise about when he slid his hand under the waistband of his pyjamas? Did he go slow and lazy, or fast and furious? 

There were all sorts of questions to ask about that. But for now he just bit their lip and purred low in their throat.

Which was when Cas noticed Crowley… watching, for want of a better term, and he pulled his hand back like he was stung. It did nothing to make their boner abate, though. And if anything, Crowley might have thought Cas got _off_ on the sudden shock of being caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” he said, trying to guide their hand back down and getting as far as their hip. “It’s a nice way to wake up, you know.”

“I am not - _no_ \- Crowley I’m not going to jerk off with you watching.”

“Even if I’m quiet?” Crowley asked, pouting. “It’d be a shame to waste such a-- don’t you dare think about disgusting things right now! Castiel! For shame!”

“I have to make it go away somehow,” Cas hissed in defiance. “Stop trying to touch it.”

“It’s a natural bodily function, like yawning or burping. But unlike those things, it’s also a pleasant one. All sorts of nice hormones flood the body if you do it right. Might even be therapeutic, you know. And if nothing else it’s a sign that you--”

“You are not turning masturbation into part of my healing regime, Crowley. No.”

“Why not?”

“I just-- I don’t want to have sex with you.” Right now, Cas vaguely thought, but then staunchly started to sing over the top of his thoughts to prevent them being heard.

“It’s not sex with me. It’s sex with yourself. Your body is the only one here. It’s just self-love, with someone watching. You never done that?”

Cas refused to answer aloud, but the ‘no’ came through loud and clear regardless.

“Look. Cas. I’m many things, but I’m not about to rape you in your own body with your own hands. You might think I’m morally bankrupt, but believe it or not, I have standards. And you… well.” Crowley pulled one hand free enough to lift the duvet and peer down. “...you seem to like me watching.”

Cas flickered their tongue over their lips. “That’s not the point.”

“It really sort of is. If it’s something both parties want and enjoy? Then it’s _fantastic_. If it makes it easier on you, I could… do it instead? And then you could lie back and relax… and if you decide you want me to stop at any point, all you have to do is grab the hand back.”

Cas seriously considered that offer. One the one hand: sex! On the other hand: Crowley! Quite literally, in fact. He was still - despite the half-assed attempt at thinking unsexy thoughts - really rather turned on. And it was a bit difficult to work out if it was because of Crowley’s offer, or if Crowley’s demonic libido was over-writing his own. Did it even matter? He could certainly feel the arousal, and even if it was someone else’s he was vicariously experiencing, that didn’t make the sensation any less real.

The ex-angel’s eyes flickered over to the door to their room, and then to the clock. The door was locked, and the hour was early. The chances of them being disturbed were slim and Dean had at least learned to _knock_ since the shower incident. And… was it really that much of an issue? Just… beating a quick one off? The more he thought about it, the more he realized he wanted it. And Crowley wanted it. That much was self-evident. Crowley very much wanted it. 

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, so he nodded and stopped resisting instead.

“Good,” Crowley said, and he moved his hand over the top of the duvet. Cas frowned in confusion. Wasn’t he supposed to be…?

“Patience, kitten,” came his voice in that low murmur that was and wasn’t Crowley all in one. If he let his mind drift enough, he could even hear it come out more like Crowley’s usual voice. “Some things are worth doing properly.”

Things like, it seemed, using the heel of his hand to rub slowly but firmly over his crotch, through the distraction of the fabric. Cas hissed and tried bucking their hips up, wanting more friction. Crowley laughed at him, and rubbed down harder. It was maddening, and it was making the sharp stab of need sort of seep out and radiate into his thighs and his belly, making the whole area sensitive. “More,” he insisted. “Crowley… don’t tease.”

“It’s only teasing if I don’t intend on delivering. And angel? _I’ll make good on my promise._ ”

Oh fuck. How did Crowley even make his voice _do_ that? 

“Speak for yourself,” Crowley replied, and Cas blushed, remembering that his thoughts were not his own. Especially not now. He was certain he was telegraphing his need like crazy.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come off it. Your low, gravelly purr? Every other word out of your mouth is ‘fuck me’. And the other ones are ‘I’ll fuck _you_ ’...”

Oh, Jesus Christ. Cas actually whimpered and was gratified to feel the bladed weapon of _want_ twist in them both. Crowley pushed both hands under the duvet and he was hefting at their balls with one hand, the other using just fingertips to trace the outline of their - his? - cock through the flimsy cotton of the pyjamas Cas insisted on wearing when Crowley let him sleep.

“You sure scrub up well,” Crowley told him, wrapping his hand around their length and rubbing his thumb just under the crown and then over. Cas was certain he’d started to leak, because he sure as hell felt turned on enough.

“I’d like to take the credit, but it wasn’t as if I chose this body.”

“No. True. But it _does_ suit you. That lovely mouth of yours. It just begs to be kissed, you know. Pity I can’t make good on that, right now. I’ll just have to make do with what I can.”

Cas felt his mouth go dry at the talk of kissing. Jerking off was quite one thing, but kissing? That… might have been a step too far. But he didn’t really have time to think much about it, because Crowley lifted his hand to spit in it - having to really _work_ past the sudden parched heat - and then he shoved that hand into his pants and he was stroking with short, sharp, twisting movements. Cas’ left heel drummed the bed in praise and protest in one, feeling even more turned on by the fact his body was _touching itself_ and it wasn’t even under his control. Well. Not completely. It felt like Crowley was sitting behind him in bed, pressed up against his back and tugging him off. Except he could _feel_ and tell how turned on Crowley was, too.

“You like that?” Crowley asked, curling tighter on an up-stroke until Cas yelped out in bliss.

“Yes! Yes. Oh _God_ yes.”

“What do you normally think about, when you’re doing this? Do you even _have_ fantasies? Or do you just get it over and done with, so you can go back to being boring and normal?”

Cas frowned. “I’m not going to--”

“Dean? _Really_? Look. I know he has pretty eyes and a nice mouth, but come on, Cas. Sam is much better looking.”

“What?”

“I mean, look at him! All that fabulous hair, and those broad, strong shoulders. Oh I bet he looks good topless. I bet he could lift you up and slide you on his cock without breaking a sweat. And I’m sure he has a really nice--”

“Crowley, stop it!”

“What? You don’t fantasise when you’re scratching an itch?”

“I don’t want to think about the Winchesters like that!”

“You started it.”

“I did not!”

“Yes. Yes you did. You were thinking about Dean’s mouth on your prick. You filthy little minx. Well… if that’s what gets you this turned on…”

"Dean and I have a..."

"If you say 'profound bond' I'm going to stop!" Crowley threatened. 

This was sexual blackmail. Or something. Cas was confused. And then his mind wandered when Crowley’s hand did that thing and...

“Oh. _Oh_. Well, that’s flattering. Yes, my preferred body is rather--”

Cas grabbed the spare hand and slapped his forehead with it. This was insufferable. Now Crowley could hear all the twisted little fantasies he was currently harbouring towards him. And as ‘Crowley’ in his head was synonymous with his normal body… yes. It got rather graphic. He could all but _feel_ the breath on his neck.

“Okay. Yes. You have an attractive body as well. When you’re in it,” Cas added.

“Do you often fantasise about me?” Crowley asked, sounding touched. “Would now be a good time for me to say I might have harboured the occasional lustful thought about you?”

“I think you have lustful thoughts about _everybody_ , Crowley.”

“Mostly true. But some are nicer than others.”

Crowley’s voice was doing that shuddery, breaky thing, though. Where some words came louder and faster than others, as he struggled to get them out past his lips. It was utterly entrancing to hear him losing his control, and Cas whined in pleasure. Crowley was becoming less sure, and more ragged. 

Cas tried not to foreshadow too much, moving their other hand suddenly and gripping at his nipple through the fine bedshirt. It stung as he twisted it, and it felt much more intense than if he’d just done it to himself because _Crowley_ yelped out in shocked glee, and Cas kept on worrying it to the point of almost-pain. Crowley liked that. He could hear. He liked giving and receiving the odd smack or scratch, and doing both at once was messing with his brain. He also heard Crowley wonder why he’d never done this with any of the few bodies he’d had to share with a mortal before, and Cas pouted.

“Sorry,” Crowley muttered. “But you have… have to agree, it’s _hot_.”

“And you’re already cheating on me,” Cas pouted.

“Oh, darling, no. You think I’d let just anyone see the filth I think about?”

“Now you’re just flattering me.”

“Is it working? Are you blushing?”

“Shut up and jerk me off, Crowley.”

The other voice laughed, rich and deep, and Cas wondered what he sounded like to other people when he spoke himself. Crowley seemed to fill his voice all the way from top to bottom. It was not fair. Not fair at all.

“You’re an ingrate, Castiel. Need I remind you that if it were not for me and my utterly altruistic intentions and overtures of friendship, you would be dead as the proverbial doornail right now?” Crowley let his fingers slide lower and gently curl underneath their (uncomfortably full) nutsack. “And now with the sexual demands. Tsk tsk. So needy.”

Castiel whimpered. If he shut his eyes (both external and internal), it felt as if the both of them really were _right there_ , together, naked. He wanted to reach out and wrap his arms around… something. Around Crowley. But all he could do was dig his nails into his own skin.

“I’m sorry,” Cas practically moaned into the pillow. “No, you’re right. I’ll be more grateful… Just… get me off. Please?”

“Well. You did ask nicely.” Although under the words was still the vague consideration about how to _really_ drive him out of his mind… until the realization that it would also be **self-** denial kicked in. Bugger. That was unfortunate. He was just going to have to make good on his promise for now, and maybe some other time work out how best to torture Cas. (In the nice ways. All the nice ways. He knew lots of those.)

Cas’ hips were rutting up (because Crowley had given him control of that) and he started to tug firmly on their balls. It was hard because he was hissing in pleasure, and the double-whammy of both of their reactions really was something special. He stroked just behind Cas’ balls and was gratified to hear a squeak of not-protest and alarm.

“Not used to that?” Crowley asked. “Pity. Or not. There’s plenty you can do back there. Might even show you some of it.”

“ _Crowley_ ,” Cas complained again, tugging mentally at their hand and pulling it back where he wanted it. Which was on their dick. “No more teasing.”

Crowley had let Cas move their hand - confident he wasn’t about to slap it into a ‘no more touchie touchie’ - and he lay back briefly to make Cas work for his supper. He’d been wondering what Cas liked to do to himself, and in the absence of Crowley’s attention, Cas started to beat over his meat furiously hard. Punishingly so. Well. Either he was desperate, or that was telling in and of itself.

“Shut up,” Cas snarked.

“I said… nothing…”

“You were supposed to be doing this.”

“You’re… ah… doing a _r-reasonable_ job on your own. Oh--”

Apparently pissing Cas off made him slightly nymphomaniac. And aggressive. And he was teaching Crowley a thing or two about this body’s sensitive spots. Those all warranted storing for future use.

“Who said there’s going to be a next time?” Cas was snippy, his hand going as fast as he could as he tried to get this ‘quickie’ over and done with, like Crowley should have managed about ten hours ago.

“The way your toes curled? Cas… there’s going to be a _lot_ more times. There’s so much we can do together and-- _hnnnnghh_ \--”

Crowley couldn’t resist any longer. He pushed himself into the hand on their cock, too, so they were jerking off together. If he thought hard enough, he could imagine they were lying side-by-side and each wanking the other off, or that instead of one cock in their hands there were two and they were sliding roughly against one another and wouldn’t that be pretty? Seeing both cockheads peeking out from their tangled hands, bumping together like awkward bedmates and both straining to be the first to hit the finish line. Christ, but that was a nice mental image. 

“Cas--” came out in almost the same breath as “Crowley--” which meant it sounded something closer to “Crass--” which was precisely what this whole experience was. 

And then with a cry that could have been either of them or both of them, and a last, victorious shunt of their hips, they were spilling hot and sticky over their hand, pulling hot, white ropes out and sputtering all over their bedshirt (which they had forgotten to take off, in all the excitement). Crowley made sure they didn’t stop even though he sort of wanted to because his - their - nerves felt raw and jangling to Hell and back, because with a few more touches Cas was rendered utterly incoherent and babbling something utterly blasphemous in the corner of their mind.

Which Crowley took as a good sign that he’d done his job properly. And that Cas would be amenable to waking up to a hand in his pants in the future.

“Gnuh,” Cas managed.

Crowley smiled fondly, wiping their hand on a cleaner bit of shirt, and then patting their slowly withering dick, just this side shy of saying ‘good boy’ to it. It was a pretty cock, too.

“Next time,” Crowley said, “I think we should do it in front of a mirror. Don’t you?”

“I’m going to die,” Cas wailed.

“No. Not with me inside you, you’re not.”

“Oh, God help me.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean Winchester’s life was a badly scripted joke that no one found funny, least of all him. To go from a brother possessed by an angel (incidentally, by his own fault) to his best friend possessed by a demon (ostensibly by _choice_ ) in a matter of weeks was - by all accounts - beyond ridiculous. And no, not any run of the mill demon, but the one demon in all the world that Dean would rather see skewered on the tip of his blade than inside _any_ of his loved ones!

Granted, Crowley had his uses.

And, ironically, was probably responsible for the death of the least of his friends and family members than… well, a lot of other assholes.

And really, if he was to be perfectly honest, it was the Purgatory plot that made Dean hate the King of Hell more than anything else, of all the questionable things Crowley had done. He somehow managed to take Cas from them, and they had nearly lost him as a result. No, they _did_ lose him. Cas died because of those Leviathans, and Dean blamed Crowley for that too. Just because he came back later, that didn’t make the loss of him any less. Dean had mourned that feathery bastard.

And now he was letting that smarmy, sulfury asshole _inside_ his body! It was utterly unbearable. It was nauseating. It was…

“It’s merely what you might call a ‘necessary evil,’” Castiel pointed out in an infuriatingly calm voice.

“Cas, I’ve heard you say shit like that before!” Dean snapped. “And besides, how do I even know I’m really talking to you and not to him?”

Cas hung his head. The truth of was they never had time to really process everything that had happened to them. Dean’s preferred modus operandi appeared to be to simply brush things under the proverbial rug. And if Cas was to be honest with himself, he was no better at communicating his own thoughts and feelings to the hunter, as was blatantly apparent by the fact that he never punched Dean in the face when he had asked Castiel to leave. (That one still hurt. A lot.)

“Because, you infuriatingly thick-skulled bastard,” Crowley piped up from inside, “I’d be a lot less polite and use decidedly longer _words_ , you stunted australopithecine!”

“That was Crowley,” Cas thought to interject.

Dean blinked and took another gulp of his beer.

“You let that douchebag inside you, Cas.”

“Sorry, love, if you wanted inside Cas first--”

Castiel clasped his own palm over their mouth to stop Crowley from saying another word. His eyes pleaded silently for forbearance.

“He saved my life,” Cas mumbled, once he was certain Crowley had beat an irate retreat. “To be fair, it’s more than either of you has done.” He shot Dean an accusatory look. No, he hadn’t forgiven him for being thrown out of the bunker when he was human (the last time). Nor for lying to him about the reason for it. Dean had no right to be angry with him about the angel tablet and then turn around distrust him with his own secrets like that. That hypocrite!

“We’ll find a way to fix this, Cas.” It was Sam who had spoken that time, piercing through the uncomfortable silence that had permeated the room after Castiel’s last words. “It’s what we do.”

“We’ve been thinking…” Cas began, trying to keep his voice cool. “The only way to really fix me is to get my Grace back. If we can’t do that… Well. I’ve already met Death. He wasn’t fond of me. But I’ll manage.”

“Like Hell you will!” Crowley erupted from within.

“That’s too weird,” Sam muttered towards his brother.

“I’m gonna get you your Grace back if it fucking kills me, Cas,” Dean declared. “I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you stay possessed by that asshole forever!”

“That asshole saved Sam!” Castiel pronounced with more heat than he had intended.

“ _Thank you, angel_ ,” Crowley told him internally. He felt touched and he wanted Castiel to know that.

“Look...” Cas tried again, with less ire. “You’re the Winchesters. If anyone can do it, you can. But I want you to know that if you can’t - that I’m fine with it.”

“ _Well I’m not!_ ” Crowley protested again, keeping his annoyance internal and audible only to Castiel.

“I’m fine with it,” Cas repeated, locking eyes with Dean.

“Well I’m not,” Dean replied, jaw set.

“We agree on something,” Crowley muttered. “Go see if there are airborne pigs about.”

***

The Winchesters were off doing something. They’d said they were going to research ways to cure Castiel, and Crowley for once thought they might be. But only because they wanted to evict him. Funny how having to accept his help honed their attention span.

“That’s not fair,” Cas protested, weakly, pushing the book away that Crowley had been using. It was a little frustrating when Crowley tried to read and he was awake. They read at different speeds and in slightly different internal voices, and Cas struggled to turn his own eyes off. Sure Crowley was trying to research, too, but at times it just got… it just got a bit much.

“What’s not fair, kitten?”

Cas sighed in mild protest at the nickname, knowing Crowley would be able to tell he found it sort of endearing as well as mildly demeaning. It was not getting any easier keeping Crowley out of his thoughts. The longer this went on, the… more exposed he was getting. And as the alternatives were ‘death’ or ‘permanent mental coma’...

“They didn’t know I was injured. I was not even fully aware of it, myself.”

Nor, Cas thought, were you.

Crowley winced. “You are not an open book, Cas. You don’t exactly make it easy for people to get to know you.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed to.”

“Look. You know the whole… ‘friends’ thing? Where people like one another? And do things for mutual benefit and pleasure? Or choose to spend time together?”

Cas didn’t answer that, feeling a little aggrieved by the implications.

“We worked together for a long time, Cas. And you didn’t really… I know you think I’m ‘just’ a demon, but I got to know you pretty well back then. And you don’t make it easy for people to like you. Maybe Dean picked Sam over you because--”

“It was not because I do not… because I do not _talk about my feelings_ , Crowley. Sam is Dean’s brother. He has always looked out for him. It is what he considers to be his job.”

“Alright. Fine. Ignore Dean, then. Where are your friends?” Crowley asked, waving an arm around. “Who harbours warm feelings towards you? Who, and is still alive?”

Balthazar had been his friend. And he had killed him. Meg… and there was a strange flicker of anger radiating from Crowley when he thought about his other demon friend.

“Why didn’t you like her?”

“Lots of reasons,” Crowley replied, with the strange sensation of a mental wall being erected. “But there you go. Answered my question. Who is friends with Castiel?”

Dead people, and people who thought of him after their brothers… and Crowley.

“You still haven’t explained properly why you’re risking all this for me,” Cas said, cautiously. Every time they got onto the subject, Crowley would vehemently and suavely direct the conversation elsewhere: deflecting with a sharp comment or a witty snap or some vaguely-insulting comment. “Why, Crowley? If you were doing this for cheap thrills then I would imagine you would be bored by now. And you’re not ingratiating yourself to the Winchesters. You know they don’t appreciate this, even if it is done with good intentions.”

What friends do I have, Crowley thought, and then he - they - swallowed. He was trying so very hard to avoid these thoughts, because he hadn’t had time to process them into an acceptable fictive narrative himself.

“Crowley--”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

“I could make you,” he threatened, but it was a weak form of violence at best. 

“No.”

Truth was, Crowley didn’t want to consider a world without Castiel in it, and that was just… sad. Castiel was - underneath it all - still an angel. Still his de facto enemy. Still the only one who he’d let betray him in the longest time. Because he had. He’d done more than just renege on their deal, he’d damn well gone and…

“You seem tired, kitten.”

Cas wasn’t. Not wholly. But he knew he was getting Crowley upset, and that the demon was going to lock him up in a box rather than openly confront the feeling of betrayal again. But every time it came up, every time they thought about… _them_ , Cas realized that still waters ran deep on both sides. Cas trusted Crowley - even despite the incident with the tablet - and Crowley was utterly determined to see him survive. 

It was… nice. Knowing how vehemently Crowley felt about it. To be cared for so utterly. Just because he was him.

“A little,” Cas lied, knowing Crowley would sense the lie but that he meant it with only good intentions.

“Maybe I should… read you a bedtime story?” Crowley suggested.

“I would like that.”

It was surreal. The King of Hell offering to read to lull you to sleep. But Cas was finding more things out about Crowley than he’d ever suspected possible. And by the same token, the demon was doing the same for him.

“Alright…” Crowley willed a tome from the bookshelf, leafing through it while a grin spread across his face. “This is _a propos_ , don’t you find? _The Three Musketeers_ , an epic story of camaraderie by Alexandre Dumas. You know he didn’t make a deal with us because his fame lasted a lot longer than ten years and he died penniless.”

“That’s good to know,” Castiel muttered, feeling the pages ruffle through their fingers.

“Of course, I insist on casting this production myself,” Crowley declared. “Featuring Dean as Athos - the drunken, emotionally damaged, self-destructive soldier. And Sam as Porthos - the oversized booby with the heart of gold. And in the role of Aramis, the facially superior strategist who is constantly vacillating between the sins of the flesh and the calling of the Church.... I give you Castiel, former Angel of the Lord.”

“How about you just read without editorializing?” Cas asked, trying to lie back and get comfortable. He didn’t want Crowley to know he found him _too_ amusing. Or that he had blushed at being called ‘facially superior.’

“I called Aramis that,” Crowley interjected.

Cas grunted.

“Oh all right then…” And Crowley commenced. “On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the market town of Meung, in which the author of Romance of the Rose was born, appeared to be in as perfect a state of revolution as if the Huguenots had just made a second La Rochelle of it.”

Castiel closed his eyes and let the words slowly wash over him. It was nice to just be allowed to listen to the sound of Crowley’s voice without the need to constantly try to analyze what he was saying, or what he was _not_ saying. Now and then he would tune into the narrative, _There were nobles, who made war against each other; there was the king, who made war against the cardinal; there was Spain, which made war against the king_ , but most of the time he just allowed his mind to relax and drift.

He felt safe, warm, and pleasantly tingly. At first, Cas was concerned that he was broadcasting his pleasure too loudly, but at last, he made the conscious decision to let it go and sank into the feeling of being enveloped by Crowley’s voice.

“A young man,” Crowley continued, perfectly aware of Castiel’s thoughts, “--we can sketch his portrait at a dash. Imagine to yourself a Don Quixote of eighteen; a Don Quixote without his corselet, without his coat of mail, without his cuisses.” He kept reading, letting the sound of his voice lull the former angel to sleep. “A Don Quixote clothed in a woolen doublet, the blue color of which had faded into a nameless shade between lees of wine and a heavenly azure.” He kept reading until he could no longer feel Castiel’s consciousness poke up and against his own, until he could practically sense the soft internal snore of the other man’s peaceful repose.

And when he was finally sure that Castiel could no longer actually hear him, Crowley allowed himself to think the thought that scared him more than anything in the world. Crowley thought about Castiel; he thought that he loved him.


	5. Chapter 5

“I’m not sure about this,” Cas confessed, running his tongue over his lips.

“Trust me,” Crowley said. “I bet you’ve never seen yourself like this, have you? Well. You should. You’re damnedly beautiful, angel. And I want to look at you.”

“I’m not comfortable with… looking at me.”

“Well. Would it help if you imagined I was standing behind you? Pressed up against your back, my lips touching your neck, your shoulder… pressed up against your deliciously tight ass…”

Cas whimpered, his knees threatening to buckle. He could almost hear Crowley’s own voice when he spoke like that, and he was beginning to realize he had a bit of a kink for it. Okay. More than a bit. Crowley had a very delicious voice, and he always said the stupidest of things which were normally at least fifty percent filth. He’d forever been uncomfortable listening, but now that he knew Crowley really _meant_ a lot of what he said, it was going to be more difficult to look him in the eye. Well. If he ever got out and…

“Shh, stop fretting, Cas. I’ll get you fixed. And I’ll go back to being me. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

“Alright.” He went back to the mental image of Crowley behind him. He could almost feel the scratch of stubble over his throat, the press of the demon’s dick nudging between his cheeks. His blue eyes flickered up to his own in the mirror, and he could see his pupils were blown. Animal response, the same way blood made his cheeks rosy and his lips swell. He bit his lower lip, white teeth glinting in his reflection. He was wearing just a towel slung low on his hips after the shower. He’d wanted to deal with the ‘situation’ then and there in the hot, wet, soapy goodness, where it would be easy to wash it off and get rid of the evidence. 

But Crowley had refused, washing them carefully and saying ‘all in good time, all in good time’. Cas was not so good at waiting. Not so good at patience. But he’d let Crowley’s hands wash them, and he’d let him towel their hair messy and he’d let him drape the towel around them and tie it into a knot. And he’d let him stand them before the mirror, not close enough to fog the glass, but not far enough to see all the way to his toes, either. 

And Crowley liked looking. Cas could sense that. Could feel the admiration as their eyes slid down over his form properly, instead of the strange forced point of view when Crowley normally peered down. Here he was face to face with the broad expanse of his own shoulders, the delicate play of muscle under skin, the way his nipples perked under their gaze. Crowley thought he was pretty. Beautiful. Handsome. All those words. Cas just blushed harder.

“Oh come on, you’re not blind,” Crowley scoffed. “And as I’m going to great lengths to preserve this…”

But it wasn’t the vessel - body - meatsuit - that Crowley really wanted to save, and Cas knew that, too. Or else he might feel a little upset by the attention. 

“It’s still strange,” Cas argued.

“I know. For me, too.”

But then he lifted a finger and thumb and snaked out his tongue, laving them wet. Crowley reached down - palm gliding over his chest - and then gently plucked at one of those nipples, making Cas gasp in shock. He half expected a sizzling noise as heat evaporated saliva, but that was - again - ludicrous. And it did make Crowley laugh inside his head.

“Well. I _have_ called you smoking before, I suppose.”

“Shut up.”

Cas had never really considered his nipples to be erogenous zones before, but then he hadn’t really thought that much about erogeny to begin with. Crowley twisted the nub gently this way and that, his other hand stroking over the flat board of his stomach and the tips of his fingers prodding under the flimsy fabric. Cas wanted Crowley to just get the Hell on with it, because he’d been horny since he woke up and even more horny since they’d undressed and… damnit… if Crowley wanted them to be making the sexy why didn’t he just make the damn sexy?

Another laugh, and he was stroking over the bulge under the towel. The towel was one of the fluffy types, but it was still not as good against his dick as, say, a hand would be. He aggressively sent thoughts of Crowley’s fingers worrying over his cock in an attempt to unravel the demon and provoke faster touchings.

Crowley retaliated by thinking about rubbing up against him again, and grabbing hold of his hips to ride his cock between Cas’ butt-cheeks. Oh god yes. Cas made sure the towel fell down, and he shoved his ass backwards obligingly, keening when there was nothing _there_.

“Would you?” Cas asked, gratified when Crowley’s hand reached down and started to stroke. He forgot himself momentarily, staring back over his shoulder to look at a person who wasn’t there.

“Would I… what?” Crowley replied, turning his head back to the mirror to see how pretty he looked when he was presenting like that. Hunched and wanting, and reaching between his own legs.

Cas couldn’t bring himself to say the words, but the thoughts were there clear enough. Would you mount me? Would you climb up behind me and into me? Would you press along my back and ride me good and hard? His face went hotter still. He’d never realized he’d wanted it - Hell, back then he _hadn’t_ \- either because it had felt wrong to use someone else’s body, or he’d plain just not entertained the notion. But now? Now he could think about it.

He could think, too, about the little grunting noises Crowley made them make, and wonder if his vess-- meatsuit would, too.

“Of course I’d fuck you,” Crowley chided. “In a heartbeat.”

And then, too, came the answering slew of filth from Crowley’s mind which (let’s be honest) Cas had been trying to pull out. 

Oh. _Oh_. Crowley’s thoughts were a lot less coherent and a lot more… graphic. He didn’t just want to bend him over like this, there were flashes of tables, desks, chairs, beds. Knees bent to chests, lips locked together. And then there were the other thoughts. Ones where their positions were reversed and _did Crowley actually want him to do that too?_

“Damn.”

“Shut. Up. I’m trying to concentrate, angel.”

Cas swallowed, watching as his throat worked the saliva down and staring as Crowley clearly imagined _other_ things sliding down the back of his… oh. **Oh**. Crowley wanted him on his knees with his mouth full. Hands in his hair, holding him still as he fucked his mouth raw. Cas staggered, his hand moving from tormenting his nipple to slamming against the mirror to hold him up. His knees felt weak and he _wanted_ that. Wanted to sink down to his knees and offer up his mouth and throat. Wanted to taste Crowley and wanted to see him beaming down at him with pleasure. Yes. Oh _god_ yes.

Or the reverse, too. Maybe he’d like that? There were so many things to try and even though Crowley was making indignant protest noises, he could also feel that the confused mess of fantasies was pushing the demon’s buttons way in too. Cas’ fingernails made a skritching noise over glass, and he humped his own hand raggedly.

“I’d do it,” he said, meeting his own eyes in the glass and seeing Crowley inside them. “I’d do it if you asked me to.”

Crowley couldn’t even pull together a coherent response to that, and Cas smiled warmly. 

“No, I’m not trying to kill you, Crowley. I mean it.” And he did. He’d try all of those things. This wasn’t just masturbation any more, and had ceased to be that some time ago. There were ways and means of just getting off and fast, but this? This was intimate. He was letting Crowley see all those twisted little wants, and seeing them reflected back at him with equal desire. He just wished Crowley’s real body was here, right now, because there would be _so much more_ he could do if it was.

“We’ll see,” Crowley choked out at him.

Cas refused to look down, even when Crowley asked him to. Refused to break gaze with himself. His tongue stole out over his lips and dragged… and Crowley whimpered at the sight of it. It really was a magnificent tongue, Cas had to agree. Long and pointy and capable of probably very many wicked things. 

_I mean it_ , he thought. And it was true. He did lust after the demon. Not just because of his very pretty body (and it was - very pretty - he knew why Crowley favoured it) but because… it was Crowley. And Crowley wanted him. And he wanted him back. And really it just sort of **fit** and it was **hot** , so why not?

Why not.

 _You’re such a romantic,_ Crowley accused him.

And when did romance become a factor, Cas wondered? This was supposed to be about them surviving and occasionally enjoying the pleasures of the flesh. Yes. That. Not staring soulfully into one another’s eyes in a mirror and (for the love of all!) _touching_ hands through a reflection. 

He felt Crowley start to panic, start to freak out and consider a hasty retreat, but Cas wasn’t going to let him.

“Stay,” he begged, and pushed his own consciousness into the hand still beating them off. “Stay here. I want you to.”

Apparently it was a good thing to say, because he felt it hit Crowley like a truck to the chest, felt him stagger under the simple words. 

_Shit_ , one of them thought, and Cas couldn’t work out which of them it was.

He leaned closer to the mirror - nose pressing to glass - and wished he could push into it and bring the other body out. It wasn’t even that he considered himself attractive in that way, it was just that he wanted to _really_ be able to hold him, to kiss him, to pull him in against his chest and breathe into his hair.

He was laying himself utterly open and although it made fear thrill in his chest, it made joy rise up, too. To be known and vulnerable. And for Crowley to do the same. 

“I want you,” Cas repeated.

And Crowley jerked them both to oblivion - their eyes closing as they splashed all over the stupid reflective wall between them - tunnelling from the _wrong_ things they could see in the real world, and down into the truth they could feel inside.

They weren’t one person. They were - still - two. And they were falling for one another, whether they wanted to or not.


	6. Chapter 6

Crowley was kind of ignoring him. It was getting frustrating. After all, Cas hadn’t been the one to initiate this. Any of it. At all. It was all Crowley’s doing, and so it was utterly unfair of him to suddenly give Cas the cold shoulder.

He felt… cheap. Used. Dirty. Like he was only there for when Crowley felt like playing with him, and the rest of the time that it amused him to cut him off dry and make him flounder in his… in his _feelings_ , lost inside his own head.

Maybe Crowley only felt things for him when he had his dick in his hand. He was a demon after all. Was he even capable of--

“Oh, Cas, that hurts,” Crowley snapped at him. “Right in my long-dead heart. Want to wiggle the angel blade around inside, too, while you’re at it? Shake out any last drop?”

“Right now I don’t think you’re capable of bleeding,” Cas said, accusingly. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Shutting me out.”

“I don’t have time to listen to your romance-novel damsel in distress wailings,” Crowley retorted. “I’m trying to save you, remember?”

Smug, nasty little bastard. It was _not_ one-sided. He was sure. Not just the filthy fantasies about all the things they could do with _two_ bodies, but the other things. The way Crowley had struggled to meet his eyes. The way he’d… _felt_ things bleeding through. _Affection_.

“Do I have to box you again?”

“If you keep boxing me I’m going to ask you to leave,” Cas retorted, feeling snitty.

“Oh, don’t lie. You will do no such thing.”

“I might. I might ask you to leave.”

“And drop dead?”

Okay. Fine. He wasn’t _quite_ at that point, yet. And Crowley knew that too.

“What’s so hard to admit, Crowley? I’ve seen inside your head. I know what’s up there.”

“You’ve barely scratched the surface, angel.”

“So? Why not let me in?”

“Because I have what’s called ‘self-preservation instinct’.”

“And me knowing how you feel about me will--”

But Cas didn’t get any further because that heavy mental wall slammed back into place… and he was left behind it.

***

Cas supposed it was only a matter of time until someone had found him again, especially with the Winchesters out doing… whatever it was that they said they were doing. 

“Hunting people, saving things,” Crowley mused.

“That’s not funny,” Castiel bit their lip so as not to snicker. He especially did not want to rise to the bait since he was relatively sure wherever the brothers had gone, they did, in fact, have the intention of trying to find a way to save him (and to dissociate Crowley from him).

It was getting unbearable in there with the both of them taking turns sulking.

Bartholomew’s angels attacking _was_ an entertaining reprieve of sorts, even if it almost cost them both their hide. Cas told himself that he would reiterate his gratitude to Crowley later, once death wasn’t quite so _iminent_. He was also thankful for Crowley’s apparently endless supply of angel blades - they certainly came in handy when there was a world of stabbing to be done. Fortunately his demonic counterpart hadn’t melted all of them down into bullets (the memory of that encounter still wasn’t his favorite of all his Crowley memories).

Castiel could feel his vessel heaving as he pushed the blade through the last attacking angel’s skull and watched him flame out, body slumping against his own.

“Ugh, get it off me!” Crowley protested, pushing the corpse off, fingers still feverishly clenched around the blade. “Cas, your entire family has no manners!”

Well, at least it appeared they were speaking to each other again.

“Thanks for the assist,” Cas projected, lips feeling far too parched for words. He tried to push off the table, where the angel had originally pinned him, but apparently Crowley had other plans.

“It’s no longer safe for you here, Cas. For _us_. You have to assume before we barbequed them that they had projected your location to the entire garrison.”

“What do you propose we do?”

“We leave. Go underground. No place like home.” Crowley pushed their body off the table and meticulously brushed off their clothes. There was no sense in looking unkempt now that immediate danger had been averted.

“You mean, go to Hell?”

“It’s the only place I can guarantee your safety.”

Ironic, Castiel thought.

“I need to leave a message for Dean,” he projected.

“Don’t strain yourself in your human mental acuity - I just took care of it!” Crowley held up a piece of paper and tagged it to the refrigerator with a magnet.

It read: _Gone to Crowley’s. Call when you have Grace._

***

This wasn’t how Crowley had wanted it to go, when he thought about it, which he would never admit to in the first place. But this wasn’t how he’d wanted to take Cas home. Sure, he’d dragged the angel down to the tarpits before, as a passenger, but this was different. He wasn’t sure how long they’d need to stay, and he wanted Cas to feel comfortable, at ease. _Mi casa es su casa_ , and all that. 

Rather dolorously, the King of Hell stared down at his own favorite meatsuit. The longer he stayed inside Castiel, the more he sort of spread out to assimilate to all that new real estate. But it never did seem to ever fit quite as well the stocky old bastard from New York. Crowley had chosen well, but then again, he’d always prided himself on his ability to make excellent choices.

(Present company most _definitely_ excluded! Never room with an angel again! Nosy bastards.)

“Castiel, what are you _doing_?” Crowley began to pull his arm back as if burned. Apparently, whilst he was distracted by his righteous reverie, Castiel had decided to cop a feel on his suit. Or rather his suit’s face. And hair. The stupid angel had been running his… _their_ fingers through his suit’s hair, and if that wasn’t a violation of a man’s limits, Crowley did not know what was. He puffed their chest out in indignation.

“I just wanted to touch you,” Castiel responded with a resigned sigh.

“If you want to touch me, I’m right here. _Here_ ,” Crowley indicated, poking their finger into their chest. “You want to be running your fingers through my hair, do _this_ ,” and Crowley reached up to brush their fingers against the skin of their scalp.

“I like this body,” Castiel insisted, pulling the hand back and placing it against the lifeless lips of the suit again.

“This is the epitome of undignified,” Crowley protested. “Cas, I’m _not_ into necrophilia.”

“I just want to be able to wrap my arms around you,” Castiel confessed. They were speaking. And yes, Cas could only imagine how uncomfortable this line of discussion was making Crowley. “Even if that means I pretend that you’re _there_ and not _here_ , it’s still a comforting thought.”

“Cas, we are not snuggling with my suit.”

“You can cope, Crowley.”

He could cope. He could cope with a lot of things. He _had_ been coping with a lot of things. Having to compartmentalize his own thoughts from Castiel’s, for one thing. It was hard enough. But now, as Cas was actually forcing their shared body up against his empty shell, was wrapping his arms around it, putting their head up against the suit’s chest, he could also rise above them both and peer down, and for a moment frozen in time imagine that it could really be that way. In reality. Cas and Crowley. Snuggled into each other’s embrace. What a nice thought.

But he could also cope with the _truth_. And the truth was that it was temporary. It was only the aftereffect of the body-sharing. Nothing more than psychic leakage. And as soon as he was out of Castiel’s vessel, they would go back to hating each other. Or, at best, cordially ignoring each other.

“I wouldn’t hate you,” Cas protested weakly, his fingers back to trailing through the empty meatsuit’s hair.

_Blasted_ psychic leakage.

Crowley hoped the Winchesters would find a way to get Castiel’s Grace back sooner rather than later. Perhaps the idea of Cas not only being possessed by Crowley, but also _in Hell_ would be a sufficient motivational factor. They could only hope.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean didn’t call. He texted. Crowley felt the phone vibrate first, but he let it resolve into the tune that said it was text and not voice that demanded his attention. Not many people had his phone number - not this one - so he knew before he picked it up who it would be.

“They must have good news, surely,” Cas fretted from his corner of their mind. “Either that or they’re in trouble. Maybe Bartholomew or Abaddon has--”

“Much as it would please me to read of their untimely demise, Cas…”

Crowley scowled down at the letters on the screen. “...they claim to have found your quintessential spirit.”

And then came the sudden sugar-rush of an angel overjoyed. Crowley actually yelped like a grumpy old man and used a mental stick to prod him with, because Cas was dancing around jubilant at the prospect of being his old, angelic self. Before Crowley could stop him, Cas had waltzed their body over to his _own_ meatsuit, grabbed his face and planted a quick kiss to his lips.

Crowley recoiled in absolute horror.

“Oh, stop being so fussy, demon. It was just a little kiss. I’m happy! I don’t die any more! I get myself to myself! I can be an angel again! I can be me! I can eat junk food without you judging me!”

Yes. Well. You save a guy’s life and he’s over the freaking moon about kicking you out. 

“Don’t be like that,” Cas said, deflating a little. “You’ve been feeling claustrophobic too. I’ve appreciated you doing this for me, but we both knew it was a temporary arrangement at best.” He patted the empty body’s cheek.

“...and besides,” he went on. “This way we can talk to one another properly. And… you know. Other things.”

Other things which Crowley was sure Cas would no longer want, when his own underlying lo-- lust was out of the equation. It was the bleed-through. It was just his own need for - for - _touch_ (not companionship, not respect, certainly not love) that Castiel had been suffering from. And when they were apart… bam.

He’d probably take all that new-found libido and bark up the tree of Dean at long last.

“Crowley, would you give me some credit?”

“We should go.”

“Hang on. I don’t think you--”

But Crowley vanished them into the bunker, and whatever Castiel wanted to say died on his lips when he looked up.

***

“Well,” said Dean, tapping a finger to the vial he was holding. Clear glass, with an undeniable swirl of blue Grace trapped within. “We got it back. Wasn’t easy, mind you. That Metatron was a _dick_ and a half.”

“Thank you Dean, thank you Sam,” Cas said, meaning every word. His eyes were drawn to the pretty, glowing pattern. Him. ‘Castiel’. Well. The ‘Angel of the Lord’ part of him. Crowley kept wanting to look away or say something nasty, and Castiel was trying his best to keep him down.

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome. Not like you wouldn’t do the same for us,” Sam pointed out, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“ _Why can’t you like him instead?_ ” Crowley thought peevishly. “ _He’s much more reliable and honest._ ”

“Maybe I have a thing for bad boys,” Cas sighed in response. And then - from the look of horror and confusion on Dean and Sam’s faces respectively - “I said that aloud, didn’t I?”

Sam nodded. Dean shoved the bottle towards him. “Dude. Just. Get that sick freak out of you. He’s doing things to you and they aren’t natural.”

“And you would know all about natural… oh fine. FINE. Just do it, Cas,” Crowley groused.

Cas’ thumb slid over the stopper. “What if I hurt you?”

“And how would you plan on doing that?”

“I’m… it’s my _Grace_ Crowley.”

“Hell save me! Are you all always this obtuse? Yes, I know it’s your Grace. Kind of the point of the whole - you know - treasure hunt? Pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? Lost Ark of the Covenant?”

“But you’re a demon.”

“And? I took a face full of Gadreel, you know. Not that anyone bothered to worry about that. He _did_ try to murder me, and it was only because I was--” Well. Saved by Sam, to be honest. “I’ll be okay.”

“Gadreel was held back by your…” Cas swallowed. “What you did to his head. If he had been fully free, then he might well have burned you to a crisp.”

“You could always try _not_ doing that?”

“Crowley,” Dean snapped. “The angel said out. Vamoose. Scoot. He doesn’t need you in any more.” His fingers clicked impatiently.

“ _But what if it doesn’t work?_ ” Crowley asked, inside. He didn’t want Dean to see his concern. “ _What if it doesn’t fix you?_ ”

“ _Then I die, Crowley. But it will. It’s **me** in there. I can feel it. It’s going to be fine. You’re going to have to let me go sooner or later._ ”

The demon gave one last huff. “Fine. But if he starts faltering, I am going straight back in.”

Then Castiel’s head tilted back and his mouth opened wide. Vibrant, swirling red smoke arched up to the ceiling, then crashed right back down again. Crowley wasn’t going anywhere until he was satisfied, and he laced himself around and around Cas’ legs like a pacing, anxious wolfhound, wanting to make sure he was okay.

“Dude, really?” Dean scoffed.

It was difficult to do, but somehow the smoke still gave the impression that it was flipping the hunter off.

Cas smiled down at the demon fussing over him, but with him gone the damage was palpable again and he realized how hard Crowley had been working to keep pain out of his mind all this time. His hand shook a little as he unfastened the stopper, and the blue Grace that echoed Crowley’s shot up and in through his mouth.

The angel shut his eyes and… felt. Really felt. He could sense Heaven back inside him - and it was much different to when he’d stolen Theo’s Grace, much - and the light started to wind through him to push into every last orifice and digit and kiss his body better. For the first time in the longest time he could remember… Castiel felt _whole_. A little frown and he shook his shoulders out. Even his wings? Either removing his Grace before the Fall had saved them, or the brothers had done something to Metatron that fixed that, too. He beamed and his eyes glowed briefly blue as he looked up at Sam and Dean and nodded.

And then down at Crowley, who was still solicitously swirling. He reached down a hand to let him trickle through his fingers. He couldn’t exactly _feel_ him but it was as close as he’d ever gotten.

“Right,” Dean huffed, “quit being a dick and go on back to your other body, Crowley. Cas is all fixed, and you’re creeping me the Hell out like that.”

The red shape whizzed past Dean’s face, causing the backdraft to whip over his skin. Rude. Very rude.

But Castiel seemed to be intact, and he _did_ feel vulnerable like this, so he burst out the door and blinked back Hellward.

“You could be nicer to him,” Cas complained. “He did save my life.”

“Yeah. Well. Pretty sure I don’t **want** to be nice to the King of Hell. And _nothin’_ is gonna make us even.”

Cas sighed. “Okay. But I think you’re being a little too simplistic in your world-view.” 

Now where was Crowley. Surely he’d have found his body by now, and clicked his way back topside? Cas made a show of fussing over his frame as he waited.

And waited.

No. Seriously. Where was Crowley?


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel wasn’t exactly what you might call _thrilled_ to go down to Hell, especially without Crowley to guide him through the intricacies of the Universe’s most sulfury bits, but when three attempts at summoning Crowley had failed, he figured he owed the demon at least that much.

Of course, it was possible that Crowley had simply found some new way to avoid being summoned. A strategist of his caliber would, after all, try to avoid all possible attempts at being led into a trap.

But he had been suit-less, naked really for all intents and purposes, and somehow more vulnerable that way (although Castiel wasn’t sure that this was really the case), and really Cas didn’t appreciate the way Dean had summarily dismissed the demon. And he felt bad. Guilty-bad. Also alone and bizarrely _lonely_. Bereft in an intangible but very persistent way. So, the sooner he figured out whether Crowley was just throwing a tantrum or actually in trouble, the sooner Castiel was going to feel better.

He willed himself down the windy corridors, using all his newly regained celestial senses to find his way to Crowley’s hidden lair. He could barely tell where he was last time they were here, and now, armed with his powers he was only marginally less disoriented. But Crowley wasn’t the only one who knew how to use magic to locate things. He might not have been able to summon Crowley, but he could tether himself to the meatsuit. He had to assume, where the suit went, there Crowley had to be as well.

Except he wasn’t. 

Cas stared down at the body before him and felt his heart sink. The meatsuit… body… was empty. And Crowley was still no where to be found.

So, it must have been trouble then, which meant time for Plan B. To the extent that Castiel had a Plan B (which he didn’t), and that really kind of… sucked, to use Dean’s expression. 

But he _was_ in Hell, which meant: demons. Castiel could easily find one to torture for information (he’d never been above a little celestial waterboarding, even before he’d met Dean Winchester). And maybe, if he asked the right questions, he might be able to figure out where to look next. Because if someone had captured (and _no_ , not killed!) Crowley, then it was Castiel’s job to spring him from whatever confinement he found himself in.

Because that was just and fair.

And had nothing to do with the fact that Castiel missed the demon at all.

“Hang on,” he whispered into the empty meatsuit’s ear, “I’m coming to find you.”

***

Crowley might have been able to tolerate the absolute denigration of being trapped inside a tiny glass vial, he might have bowed his proud head beneath the weight of Enochian binding symbols, he might have even admitted to being one-upped by a worthy adversary and given Abaddon her due. But he could _not_ abide the sheer humiliation of being worn around the Satan-spawn’s neck as a bloody article of jewelry!

The _hubris_ of it!

The insult was compounded by the fact that it might have all been avoided. If only he’d dilly dallied slightly less at the bunker. If only he’d cared less about that ingrate Castiel and all his mortal and/or divine incarnations (damn the lot of them!). He might have made it back to his lair sooner and then Abaddon could just…. EAT HIM.

Well, she would have found it more difficult to bind him in the teensy tiniest vial around her obnoxiously long neck, that’s for sure.

He supposed he should have been grateful for the lack of murdering. She couldn’t kill him in this form. But - things being as they were - he might have preferred to be dead, than on display like that, being batted around inside that trinket! He was not her damn trophy!

And now he’d never know if Castiel was fully healed. Or if he needed to go back and re-possess the idiot to keep him from falling to pieces again. It certainly _looked_ like it was working when he was so rudely dismissed, but could anyone truly be certain?

So here he was, reduced down to a pretty bauble, a trophy for a demented ginger bitch (maybe she only wanted him because he accessorized so well with her hair), and instead of properly lamenting his fate and working up some way to (hah) escape, he was _wangsting_ about _Castiel_. Oh, Crowley. You’ve fallen hard. You’re such a sap, he told himself…

...and realised he was waiting for Castiel’s cooing, gushy response that never bloody came. Terrific.

***

If Crowley was missing then only one thing made sense. He was King - or so he insisted, brushing the current _coup_ attempt under the carpet - and the only pretender to his throne? The Knight. Abaddon. She was dangerous, and she was immortal, and Castiel… Castiel was a little afraid of her.

But she must be who had Crowley, because no one else would _dare_. He considered - briefly - asking the brothers for help… but Dean had made his distaste for Crowley well known, and he didn’t quite dare ask either of them to come to Hell to help him… not to mention the angel of Thursday had always been a little… petulant about asking for assistance. When you prayed to a God who didn’t listen, you became rather jaded to the thought of anyone giving a shit.

No.

Crowley had come through for him, and so Castiel had to do the same. And it was the right thing to do, any concept of quid pro quo aside. Crowley deserved nothing less.

But how would he take down a Knight? She was immortal, and she wasn’t going to fall for the same trick twice. There would be no devil-trapped bullets this time. Castiel was going to have to pull one hell of a Hail Mary to save his demon. Because… Crowley _was_ his demon. The affection, the fondness, the need to be around him hadn’t faded with the separation, no matter how much Crowley had insisted it would. If anything, the loneliness was crippling. The spaces around his thoughts not filled with (mostly) good-natured banter, or the sense of being protected at all costs… 

Cas knew why Crowley had locked his mind down so often. Cas also knew why Crowley had moved in, too. The demon had… had loved him. Maybe even before he moved in? No. Yes. Maybe. It was all a mixed bag of emotions and he really _was_ sorry he’d ever betrayed him.

So. More than one thing to make up for. And maybe he knew how.

***

“Castiel.” Abaddon was sitting in what could pass as a throne, one arm slung lazily over the side. Her lips quirked into a nasty smile that spoke of a hundred things it wanted to do to him. “It’s almost a surprise to see you. Did you come to pay your respects to the Queen?”

The seraph’s blue eyes narrowed angrily. “No. I came to stop you.”

“Stop me?” A finger twirled through the chain about her neck, setting the pendant there swaying to and fro. “Oh, you won’t _stop me_. But I will enjoy making you crow like the bird you are. Knight, remember? Knight… to a Queen.”

She stood slowly, with a sinuous cat-curl of her spine, making a show of her bosom and the necklace she dropped down to rest between her breasts. The red swirl inside was quite obviously Crowley.

That made Castiel’s job a million times more simple. Good.

He rushed her at full speed, closing the distance with all the fury of one of Heaven’s finest soldiers. With one hand he grabbed at the necklace, curling his fingers around glass and iron and with the other he slammed his palm straight into her forehead.

“ _Long live the King_ ,” he snarled and **willed** her away.

When she was gone, he looked down at the little glass jar. Inside he was sure it was Crowley. Even shrunk down to this - the smallest of spaces - there was something utterly bitchily fabulous about the way he swirled against the edges of his reality.

“It’s okay,” Castiel told him, rubbing his thumb against the side. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

And Cas vanished into the ether, not willing to let the red smoke out of his sight until he could make sure _he_ got put back together right, either.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel had transported them both back to Crowley’s hidden lair, which, thankfully, was a lot easier to locate once he’d left himself a secret trail of sigils leading back to it, like angelic breadcrumbs that only he could follow. Gingerly, so as not to crush the vial with his re-imbued strength, he carried the container up to the recumbent meatsuit and gently set it down.

“Now, how do I get you out of here?”

The Enochian symbols seemed to only rein in the power contained within, which meant there was nothing stopping Castiel from simply uncorking the bottle. There was no time to waste, especially since he would still need Crowley in order to put Abaddon away for good. That was part of his plan, after all. He only hesitated because he knew that the Winchesters would probably never understand him letting the Crowley-jin out of the bottle when they had at last (albeit, to be fair, with demonic help) had him so conveniently pre-packaged and contained. 

“And how about we just never tell Dean about this?” Cas cast a furtive look into the bottle. He felt a little ashamed to have even had the moment of doubt.

And then he pulled out the cork and allowed the red smoke to billow out and upwards, until it streamed gleefully into the mouth of the long-abandoned meatsuit.

Crowley didn’t even bother to swirl theatrically on his way in, he was not taking any chances even for the sake of drama, right now. Being cramped in the tiny little bottle had _not_ been fun. 

Eyes open, he sat bolt upright with a little gasp. Oh. Didn’t that feel better. He cracked his neck and spun his legs over the side of the slab. His lips curled into a familiar smirk. “Daddy’s home.”

Knuckles cracked, he slid to his feet; brushing hands fastidiously over his suit under the pretence of cleaning it, but more - in fact - to check over everything and get re-used to the body. He still had the faint after-image of Castiel shadowing his sense of self, and it would be some time before it all felt as natural as once it had. 

“And yes, Cas, I would appreciate if we could keep the… particulars of how you found me between us. Much as I agree I _am_ dashing and fetching, I do prefer to be seen like _this_ than in the all-together.”

It felt right seeing Crowley like that again. All fastidiously put together and with that complacent smirk on his lips. He took an awkward step towards the demon. This was usually when things would have gotten really uncomfortable with Sam and Dean. But… oh well, screw it.

He pulled the demon into a crushing bear-hug, burying his nose right in the soft hair behind Crowley’s ear.

“I thought I might be too late. I was so worried Abaddon had… killed you,” Cas muttered.

Crowley was a little taken aback by the angel suddenly wrapped around him, and for a moment he just stood there dumbly. Then he realised it felt… kind of nice to have arms around him and… well. He swallowed uncomfortably, and then patted at him. It wouldn’t do to show he found it weirdly touching, but he also didn’t really want to push him _off_ , either.

“Well. She would have to try a lot harder to kill me,” he said as smoothly as he could (ignoring the momentary hitch), “...but your concern is… oh… damn it all to Hell and back.”

Crowley grabbed hold of Cas’ face between his hands and held him in place, tilting his head to one side and making good on the ‘would like to kiss you’ promises they’d been making all along. Now that it was less necrophilic and more… well. Normal. He pressed their lips together firmly, but he didn’t use tongue because first he wanted to make sure that a) Cas wanted to kiss and b) he had his fill of this, first.

There were nights before when Castiel would lie just barely awake in their bed, and when his mind would relax into that soft, pillowy state, and his eyes would become unfocused, and he would listen only to the sound of Crowley’s words murmuring gently out of his own body’s lips, like a stream running through a forest, and he would reach out with imaginary fingers and run them over the features of an imagined (but nevertheless very specific) face, and he would wish for a second mouth because the only available thing for him to wrap his arms around and kiss would be his own pillow. And that was just sad.

But this - not sad. At last, the angel could close his eyes and open his lips and with the smallest pressure of his fingers against the demon’s skull, push their mouths together to let their breath and their tongues mingle and intertwine. The moan softly trickling into Crowley’s mouth and down his throat was all Castiel’s own.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered, pulling away at last so that he could look into Crowley’s eyes _properly_ , not through a mirror, and to see what was reflected back at him there. Barely fettered desire. And more, so much more.

The demon kept his hands on Cas’ face, thumbs stroking gently, and he held him at almost arm’s-length, making sure he didn’t run off. He was having a hard time schooling his reactions, which was ridiculous because he couldn’t _hear_ him, now. His tongue snuck out over his lips, tasting the angel (or so he imagined). “Missed me? Cas… I’ve barely been gone… what? How long? A day? And the last thing I remember was you being glad to see the back of me…”

“A day?” Cas pulled away slightly, reaching up to take one of the palms cupping his cheek into his own hand. “You’ve been gone for days. Plural. I summoned you three times, and when you didn’t… Well… And it took me a while to be able to find this place again. Hell isn’t exactly a picnic for an angel to navigate. And you were always so _difficult_ about not letting me know exactly where we were going…” Castiel began to trail off because his brain had caught up with the rest of Crowley’s words. “Glad to see the back of you?!” he snapped and took an angry step back. “Really, Crowley? After everything we… I’ve…You... But.” He crossed his arms over his chest and tried very valiantly not to pout. 

What did he actually expect? From a demon.

But, no. He couldn’t have been wrong. 

“You _do_. Don’t you?” Castiel wasn’t going to become subsumed by emotions. Not now. Not when things were so close to finally being right for the first time in he didn’t even remember how long.

Oh, well done, Crowley. You had an angel pleased to see you, saving you even in Hell, taking on a Knight of Hell and then rushing into your arms and what do you do? You still manage to fuck it up. Because clearly the line of people who were happy to see him safe and sound, and happy to do the thing where lips touched lips, and… things with… feelings… and… that sort of… mushy gooey nonsensey…

“I do… what?” Crowley asked, acting as dumb as he felt. “Cas. You were… I was cramping your style. You know. You were getting bored of me pushing you into a corner…” His eyes squinted. “I was there, remember? I know what was going on in your head.” Yes. And in complete denial about it, too. Because… angels? Didn’t. Do the thing. With the feelings. No - scratch that - _no one_ did the thing. Because he was a demon. And people didn’t do… ‘feelings’. For demons. Did they?

“You cared for me. You took care of me.” Castiel wanted to scream, and by scream he meant use his real voice because that would have shattered Crowley’s meatsuit’s eardrums (maybe) and would have felt satisfying. _You love me!_ he wanted to scream. “It _meant_ something to you, dammit.” He ran his own fingers through his hair in a gesture of growing despondency. “Well, no matter. We still have work to do if you want the Abaddon problem to be permanently resolved.”

He was about to fly off, in a fit, actually. He didn’t _do_ fits, but apparently Crowley had the melodramatic effect on him while he was taking up residence in his vessel.

‘Meant’ something. Meaning. Yes, Crowley thought. It meant a damn lot. It meant putting my ass on the line (and coincidentally nearly getting trapped as a piece of bloody jewellery for all eternity) for no other reason than it was _Castiel_. Castiel the idiotic. Castiel the annoying. Castiel the disgustingly, unfairly pretty. Castiel the sometimes-makes-me-laugh. Castiel the only-person-I’ve-respected-in-a-very-long-time. Castiel the giant, feathery dickbag. He pursed his lips together as though he’d just licked something incredibly sour. Meaning. Plenty of meaning. 

Castiel the angel he might just have… _feelings for_. Unwelcome, unwanted, unwarranted. **Feelings.**

“... ‘No matter’? No matter, Cas? So if I _do_ have feelings for you? They’re somehow not important? We can just… ignore them and brush them under the carpet? Let’s just forget all about everything you heard, everything I heard, and let’s go deal with Abaddon and go back to being frenemies? Sure. Okay. Sign me up.”

“I said,” Castiel spoke, interrupting, trying to keep his voice steady and his eyes less wet, “I said… I missed you. I suppose I should have said more. But you… you make it so very… _difficult_.” 

Oh, for fuck’s sakes. The obnoxiously demonic demon had been inside his head, inside his _heart_. Why was he being so obstinate? Clearly, a different approach was needed, so Castiel tried to gather his bearings.

“I said, you cared for me. I should have said that I cared for you. But, Crowley, you have to understand, I… I am not programmed to think within the parameters of my own wants and desires. I wasn’t created to act on my own emotions. They are… irrelevant to me. So if I am saying… If I’m saying… _You love me_...” He stopped. It was all just too much. All of it. It worked better when they were inside the same body.

“Cas, you ignorant ass, if you haven’t noticed… _I’m a demon_. I know, I know. I’m so charming and polite you might mistake me for a fairy… but I’m a demon. People don’t tend to… it’s not really something that…”

He grabbed for one of Castiel’s hands, fingers circling his wrist, as if _touching_ would let him _see_ again. Bugger it all. If he’d not been so over-zealous with his own mental fencing, then maybe…

Crowley moved fast - knocking the stupid necklace out of Cas’ hands, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and slamming him bodily against the nearest wall. Cas had done the same to him - all those many moons ago - and Crowley was beginning to wonder if they’d been sublimating all along. “Angel,” he growled, “if I tell you I love you, and you’re perfectly within your rights to have your _own_ damn feelings, whatever the Hell they are, and to damnation and back with anyone who says otherwise because they _matter_... would you hold it against me?”

“Yes,” Cas gasped, “Yes I would very much hold that against you,” and he pulled Crowley’s body flush against his own.

“Good. Because I’m a very, very naughty demon, you know. I’m terribly badly behaved. Having all these un-becoming un-demonly _feelings_ about someone who should be public enemy number one.” He pressed harder against him. (Yes, yes it was better when he could do that, instead of just touch ‘himself’. Much better to slide a knee between his legs and let his lips rasp over the perma-stubble the angel sported. To let his tongue slide out and lick a stripe up and over his jaw to taste and see if angels were any different. Probably all in his head, but he certainly _thought_ he tasted differently.) 

“So… you like me?” he smirked, still enough of an egotist (or… someone with an artificially overblown ego) to try and force him to say it some more.

“Crowley,” Cas rasped out, “I more than _like_ you.”

He blinked away, almost shyly, suddenly too embarrassed to be the subject of so much focus. Crowley’s amber-lit eyes were practically two glowing embers, inches away from the angel’s face.

“I came for you, didn’t I?” Castiel added, hoping that it was explanation enough.

“Several times,” Crowley pointed out, deliberately going for the cheap shot. “Rather loudly, on occasion as well.” But yes. Cas _had_ come for him, and that… well. He didn’t _have_ to. Same as Crowley hadn’t needed to save Cas in the first place. And it wasn’t even a case of debts and balances, either. Crowley would do it again. And again. And a hundred times over, without ever keeping (much) score. “Although I suppose I should say ‘thank you’, anyway…”

He pulled back just enough that he could focus, that he could read the angel’s expression. “I seem to remember something of a… shall we say… wishlist? Are you still in favour of working through it?”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel replied, quietly, his hand softly but deftly wrapping around Crowley’s tie and pulling the demon closer so that he could once again hold his lower lip in between his own. He hoped that was answer enough to the second question.

Having shared a head with the angel for two months Crowley liked to think he might be semi-fluent in Cast-ese as a second tongue, and he read that as a very clear ‘yes’. He let his tongue sneak back out, running it over Cas’ lip and trying to taste his smile. It was hard to kiss and smile at once, but Crowley was sure he was beaming like the cat with all the proverbial things a cat would want.

He held Cas in place against the wall with one hand, still, but the other went to tug Castiel’s low-quality shirt from his pants, sneaking his fingers in to tickle over his belly in the process. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how he felt (except - before now - for the lips), but it was different to touch with his own, familiar hands and to not have the twisted feeling of self-love at the same time. He started unbuttoning from the ground up, wondering what he’d feel like _really_ pressed against him. Ungodly, was his suspicion. Ungodly and hot. 

As for Cas, his own mind raced wildly, beating against the confines of his skull. He knew what he wanted, he had all but had it (in a creepy and really apparently non-consensual way) earlier with Crowley’s empty meatsuit. He wanted to hold. He wanted to wrap his arms around Crowley, press in tight, and never let go.

But he also wanted to recompense the demon for earlier, when he had awoken his vessel to pleasures of the flesh hereto thought of as unnecessary and maybe even vaguely deviant. Castiel had never been a particularly judgmental angel, but he couldn’t deny that it was the tinge of _wrongness_ that had made their times together before so very _right_.

“Let me touch it,” Cas whispered, his face dissolving into a triumphant smile, simultaneously remembering their first day sharing a body and looking forward to one finally becoming two and then becoming one again.

“Really, kitten? We’re back to that again?” Crowley was trying not to laugh in his face, he truly was. It was just so damnably adorable that even now the angel couldn’t quite bring himself to use crudity. Even after all their rampant fornication. Crowley had seen Cas utterly shameless and wrecked, had seen all the pretty little fantasies in his head and still…

“I’m not going to stop you,” he said instead, carrying on the work he’d started, getting as far as the tie and realizing he could do with both hands for that. “I think, by now, it’s only fair. So… please. Be my guest.”

Castiel was a soldier after all, not one for beating around bushes, actual or metaphorical ones. He closed his eyes and, with all of his celestial intent, reached into the unzipped pocket of Crowley’s fly.

“You _do_ love me,” he grinned, “Or at least really want to fuck me, which… I’m willing to equate for the time being and just…” Go with it. Crowley’s cock lay hard and heavy against the palm of his hand.

“Cas?” Crowley grit out, through his teeth, “you’ve seen me _actually_ naked. And in my secret, private bunker for when the whole of Hell goes to… Hell. I… think it’s safe to s-say…” He grabbed at Cas’ shoulders and shunted up against his hand. Oh did he ever want to fuck him. This poor cock hadn’t had anything in the way of happy endings in _way_ too long. 

“Do I have to… recite poetry or can we go with it being… understood?” 

The demon didn’t do well with taking the back seat - he always felt just _slightly_ uncomfortably like he wasn’t pulling his own weight and that the focus of attention being on him might turn… ugly? So he tried to preempt that by visiting the angel’s throat with his lips, kissing over to the rise of his Adam’s apple, exploring one of the few bits of ‘undiscovered country’ still remaining.

Cas obligingly lifted his chin, availing Crowley of more expanses of seemingly endless neck to pay attention to, and emitted a deep purry growl from somewhere within his chest cavity. His hand feverishly clenched around the velvety shaft of demon cock in his grasp. He remembered the way that Crowley had caressed him from before, and tried to apply his acquired learning to the current situation, keen on pleasing his... lover.

More importantly, he wanted proximity; sheer, exposed closeness. He hoped Crowley wouldn’t mind if Cas simply made their clothes disappear (it was just so much more efficient that way). He wanted to rub up against the demon bodily, head to toe, skin sliding against flushed skin, to put his hands and lips where they had previously not had opportunity to go.

“You’re so beautiful,” Cas whispered in Crowley’s ear, nibbling on the sensitive lobe there, pulling him onto the (surprisingly cold) floor of the lair.

Naked was good. Naked meant more touching. Why hadn’t Crowley thought about making clothes go away? Maybe because he liked his clothes a lot. Or maybe because he was too distracted by the feel and taste of angel under his tongue. Yes. That. Probably. He followed Cas to the floor all too happily (even if it was sort of a bad idea because there were _far_ more comfortable places to do this, it just happened to be _closest_ and maybe if it was perfect the first time it would mean later occurrences would then struggle to compete).

(Crowley, he thought to himself, you really could bullshit your way out of stripping the Pope naked and covering him in bees, couldn’t you?)

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, demure as ever. Because he was well aware he was beautiful, in meatsuit at least. Maybe not the tallest one around, but it had a certain… _je ne sais quoi_ to it. He tugged Cas so that the angel was straddling him, and that gave him free rein to grab two hands full of his very nice ass… again something slightly new. You just really could not grope your own ass as easily as you could someone else’s. No matter how damned hard you tried.

That felt nice. And the vantage point certainly gave Castiel other things to consider doing, as he languorously stroked the entire length of Crowley’s cock, base to tip, back to base, a smallest reprieve to pay attention to the sack there (Castiel had been a quick learner, after all). He looked down at the demon beneath him, his mind full of a cornucopia of images (some his own, some that had been placed there by Crowley during their ‘rooming’ arrangement), and he didn’t know where to start. He just knew he wanted to touch and kiss everywhere. His own boner bumped up sadly against Crowley’s stomach, begging attention.

“So…” Cas muttered, leaning in closer, lips brushing softly against Crowley’s own, as his hand moved in persistent upward strokes. “You spent a lot of time inside me. Would you mind terribly if I spend some time inside you?” He would have blushed, probably, had this been the Before Times, but now… if anything, the angel felt strangely proud of his ability to communicate his desires so clearly. For himself.

Crowley kept squeezing that very nice ass of his, content for a little while to bang his head against the floor in appreciation of Castiel’s sudden ability to make his insides all tense up nicely. Smart cookie, he was. No wonder he was God’s favourite angel. He was certainly attentive, and Crowley appreciated being the center of such attention.

And it was _his_ turn to (uncharacteristically) blush when Cas was quite so… forward with his request. “Angel mine, I think it would be very rude of me to say no. Especially because you asked so politely. And we _do_ have to start on that hit list somewhere…” Especially because Crowley planned on doing everything on it at least twice, to make sure he liked it. He reached down for Cas’ cock - trapped hopefully between them - and ran his hand over it, too. Because he hadn’t done that since he was ‘in’ him, and because it had to feel - better? Different? For Cas with another person’s hand there. 

 

“Come here, then,” Crowley suggested, letting go of his cock and grabbing his ass again, trying to get Cas to get with the picture and crawl up closer. “Let’s start with something simple, hmmm?”

Castiel’s eyes flashed in recognition and he licked his lips at the anticipated prospects before him. He quickly slid upwards along Crowley’s body, until his thighs came to rest along the sides of the demon’s chest. The angel beamed down expectantly.

It wasn’t exactly the best position to be in for this, for the record, but whatever. Crowley wrapped a hand around Cas’ balls and dragged his tongue from root to tip. Mostly so he could then smirk up at him and see what Cas thought? Well. Cas apparently thought that he liked it. Which meant Crowley should do it again… and then wrap his lips around the head and just suck there, squeezing with his hand as he did.

Crowley had done this a few times, truth be told. You didn’t get to be his age and not try most things at least once (including - shudder - haggis), so he considered himself to be reasonably good at this and wanted to show off. Even if Cas had chosen perhaps the worst angle imaginable for Crowley to display his stunning talents. He stroked the shaft behind his lips, up and down as he moved to swallow more and more of him, eyes drifting closed as he tried to take as much of Cas in as he could. He smirked a little when the angel put a hand on the back of his head, and when he started trying to fuck his mouth. Of course it was only natural. Dicks did like to go _into_ things. It was sort of what they were created for, after all.

That was… new and different, and obviously not something they could have engaged in before (safely), and Castiel felt like anything out of his mouth at the moment other than “Yes!” and “More!” would be utterly superfluous. He moaned and thanked the Universe, God, and everything through all twelve dimensions in the past, present, and future for gifting him with a lover so skilled at the _love_ aspects of love.

“Oh, God, no more, or it will all be over too quickly!” Cas pulled away, regret written plainly all over his flushed face.

Crowley tried not to look _too_ smug about that, wiping his mouth clean on the back of his hand like a preening cat. “Another time, perhaps,” he mused. “Well. If you’re game, then I am too. How do you want me, kitten? Knees up, arms stretched, ra-ra-ra… or bent over on all fours? I’m _all_ yours, after all…”

Cas didn’t really feel the need for any further soliloquizing, and he pressed his body alongside Crowley’s, his throat still emitting that pleased purring sound. It felt so nice to have more than one set of limbs. He sealed Crowley’s mouth temporarily shut with his own lips, tongue snaking in as an intentional aperitif to their main course. He used his rather sizable hands to heft the demon’s thighs off the floor and spread them beneath him. He hadn’t actually thought of… this, aside from Crowley’s own thoughts, and it made uncertainly coil in his belly. But he wanted so badly to please his lover, to make him fall apart, watch him lose it on his cock… Yeah. That. This was _exactly_ what it turned out Castiel wanted.

“Ready?” he asked, out of sheer politeness and using every nerve to restrain the urges of his body for just another moment.

The demon wrapped his legs around Cas’ waist, settling them in place and all the better to have some leverage. All the better to tug with them, and grind his ass against the angel’s crotch to answer just _how_ ready he was. “Cas… yes. Yes I’m bloody ready. I’m not a blushing bride… I’m a big boy. I can take it, you know.”

Okay maybe he would be cheating a little bit, but it was only a little bit if he made sure he was relaxed. His hands reached up to stroke over his lover’s chest. Things like boring removing of clothes or getting yourself ready for a reaming were for lesser creatures, boring mortals, and people who didn’t want to instead get straight to the part where they could have an angel of the Lord ream them wide open. Oh yes. Crowley had been thinking about that for a long, long time. A lot earlier than when he’d moved in. He was still not entirely sure how he’d convinced Cas that this was a good plan, but damned if he was going to look a gift seraph in the mouth.

“Okay,” Cas replied, trying not to feel a little annoyed that he clearly wasn’t Crowley’s first. Well. Fine. It meant the demon could show him some tricks, and he would just have to make sure he was the _last_. He doubted Crowley had been on his back with his ass on show for another angel, though, which was something.

“This is generally the part where you stick it in, angel,” Crowley pointed out, and wiggled his ass again. “Do you need a landing strip and some lights to guide the way?”

Rather than waste his energy on a witty retort, Castiel clamped his lover’s lip between his teeth and did exactly as he was bidden, sliding into the demon’s awaiting orifice in one sure, long stroke.

Which was, of course, what Crowley had been aiming for. Oh god yes. He moaned into Cas’ mouth, grabbing the back of his neck with one hand and his arm with the other, for leverage and grounding. He felt his body opening up under the push (and sure he’d made it possible, but he wasn’t going to make himself fucking _loose_ , was he). Cas’ dick was a good, solid length inside him, and he squirmed about, trying to feel him all over. Or something. Shut up. It had been a while since he’d been bent double and stuffed. And Cas wasn’t moving _nearly_ enough, so he tugged with his legs in an encouraging manner. 

“Would you,” Cas complained, “stay still for a minute?”

“That’s sort of missing the _point_ , Castiel.”

“Is this what they call ‘topping from the bottom’, Crowley?”

“It’s called ‘would you please get around to fucking me sometime this century,’ Cas!”

Cas grabbed Crowley’s hips as hard as he could, pulled back until he was worried he was going to pull all the way out, then slammed back in. Hard. And was gratified that it made Crowley yelp a little, and made his eyes go somewhat unfocused. “Like that?”

“You have to do it more than once, Cas…”

“You know, I might be more open to carrying on if you shut up.”

Crowley pulled a hand back and made an exaggerated lip-zipping movement. And then he arched his brows again.

Well. Fine. Cas couldn’t really fault him on his eyebrows. That would probably be a little petty of him, but at least Crowley continuing to be… Crowley… was making the vague performance anxiety vanish in favour of his competitive streak. He put his hands behind Crowley’s knees and shoved them further back, taking advantage of the fact that he had preternatural balance, and slamming again. And again. Yep. Repetition was definitely a good thing. As was the way Crowley’s fingers were scrabbling over his shoulders, and the hissy little breaths he made as he clearly fought to keep in the snide little commentary in favour of letting Cas work.

Okay maybe it was a little bit too quiet.

“Does this please his Lordship and Eminence?”

“You can just use ‘My Liege’ or ‘Your Majesty’ or ‘My King’,” Crowley supplied helpfully.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“You want me to tell you you’re a good lay, Cas?”

“I hate you.” Cas decided the best way to inform him of _how much_ he hated him would be to grab hold of his cock and punish it a few times by stroking it, still riding the demon’s ass. Cas hadn’t actually… been inside all that many people, all things being told. And the last time - whilst fun at the time - had ended up rather more stabby and deadly than Castiel thought warranted any fond memories whatsoever. 

“I love you too,” Crowley purred up at him, his voice doing that nasty little trill he had so perfectly.

Whatever. Demon. Ambushing him with (half joking) confessions of emotion in the middle of bumping parts? Was very uncalled for. And Castiel made sure he made that evident by pouting at him. Even if his ass was very nice to fuck into and - in some respects - much better than a hand. (But he still reserved a certain fondness for that, too.) 

“You could have said that - oh - an hour ago?”

“Where would the fun be in that?”

Castiel could sense he was fighting a losing battle on this. Crowley had an answer for everything and it was very distracting when he was trying to work out how the whole sexing thing worked. He shoved those legs up and pulled back and out - smirking at the sudden look of utter betrayal that Crowley didn’t manage to hide in time. “Roll over, _your Majesty_ ,” he insisted. 

“Who died and made you God? God, again?” But Crowley did as he was bid, with a grunt, going up onto all fours expectantly. 

Cas took a moment to appreciate that. Crowley. King of Hell. King of being a dickhead. King of flirting with everyone and never - to his knowledge - putting out. Naked and on all fours and shoving his ass up and making a face because he wasn’t full of Cas’ dick. Yep. Castiel might not be the first… but he was reasonably certain he could - say - drag his hand along Crowley’s spine and make him sigh and arch and, God, wasn’t that beautiful? Yes. Yes it really was. Cas shuffled into place behind him, bending to place a soft kiss on his shoulder, and lined himself back up again. “Ready?”

“Angel _please_...” 

Cas pushed in again, biting his lip to keep in the little moan of pleasure, because the angle made things feel really _very_ different. And in a way - still intimate. Not because they were eye-to-eye, but because Crowley was facing the floor and letting him smother him. Oh, yes. Cas felt a rush of sudden protectiveness surge through him, which he chased by pushing into him. They moved wordlessly for a while, until Crowley made a whimpering, needy little noise and Cas realised he needed…

“Would you like me to touch ‘it’?” Cas asked, with a secret little smile that Crowley wouldn’t see, but most certainly could hear.

“I can’t believe you’re--”

That was a yes. Cas reached around him and slowed the fucking slightly to focus on stroking him, tugging him hard and firm and slapping his hand against Crowley’s balls. Crowley’s fingernails scratched over the floor, his breathing broken and his sides heaving. He was close. Very close. Cas could tell because he did the same sort of thing when they’d done this trapped inside together, as well. “Crowley…”

The demon huffed at him, head turned to one side - eyes closed. He looked almost close enough to beg, but Cas wasn’t cruel enough to make him.

“It’s alright,” he said, throwing everything he could into fucking him into his hand, his fingers tight, his thighs slapping into Crowley’s. “You don’t have to hold out.”

But that wasn’t really what he was saying, after all. He was relatively certain Crowley would understand, anyway, but even if he didn’t, it was kind of too late. With a bark that was sort of his name, Cas felt the sudden _tenseness_ as Crowley went still and then bucked, humping his hand frantically. Oh. Oh _yes_. He liked that. Liked feeling Crowley’s cock spasming in his hand instead of his own. Liked feeling the way he clenched over his dick, the feeling of ecstasy rippling through him. Figuring Crowley would forgive him, he let go of his spent cock and rammed in a few more hard, punishing times until he was chasing him over the edge, too.

“Crowley,” he whispered, his voice a broken little prayer and entreaty in one.

But Crowley didn’t answer. He was panting - straining to stay up - and Cas took pity on him. He sprawled over his back possessively, and dragged him sideways so they could spoon on the floor.

Crowley apparently appreciated that, because his arms draped over the ones wrapped around him, and he turned his head to bump affectionately at Cas. Had he - somehow - managed to render Crowley speechless? Was he going to need an icepick to get out of Hell?

“Told you… it’s better when you keep moving.”

Nope.

Nothing would shut Crowley up. Well. Nothing short of a dick down the throat.

“Sometimes I wonder why I fell in love with you, Hell-spawn.”

“Yes, well, it’s too late to change your mind now,” Crowley insisted, snuggling in and getting comfortable.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. If you change your mind now, I’ll just have to kill you myself.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

“You know… you can magic yourself down to Hell, find my secret lair, strip us both naked and fuck me senseless, but a little old four-poster is out of the question? Maybe even just a double?”

“It wouldn’t fit in the room.”

“Only if you use conventional physics.”

Yes. This really was who he’d fallen in love with. A demon with designs on interior decoration. 

“Shut up and let me hold you.”

“Fine, but if I’m stiff later on, I demand a bubble bath and a backrub.”

Castiel couldn’t resist. “I’ll deal with any of your stiffness decisively.” He grinned into the back of Crowley’s neck, feeling pleased with himself. “And here’s a blanket, in the meantime.” And he draped the expanse of his silken black wing over both their bodies.

There was still work ahead of them, important work, but for now, Castiel figured, they could afford a few minutes of what the humans called ‘snuggling.’


	10. Chapter 10

“You sent her… where?!?” Once the post-coital bliss (and the sneeze attack from the feathers tickling his nostrils) had worn off, Crowley finally tuned in to what Castiel had been trying to tell him.

“Into the future. Three days into the future, to be exact.”

“Well, what’s the use of _that_ , Cas? She’ll just find a way to kill me three days from now!”

“ _Not_ if we follow my brilliant plan,” the angel preened.

“Care to share, Cas? So that I can admire you as much as you’re currently admiring yourself?” Crowley tried to sound peeved, but the truth was, he enjoyed Castiel’s freshly reinvigorated self-esteem. He liked to take credit for it, at least partially.

“Well, I sent her three days into the future, but exactly in the same spot. So - since we know where she’s going to be in three days - we can use that time to build her a nice, surprise prison, so that when she materializes then... the prison would have already been built and sitting there waiting for her.” Cas grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “Impressed?”

Crowley couldn’t suppress a little laugh.

“Kitten, you are adorable.” He had to crane his neck upwards to kiss Cas on the nose. “But a strategic genius? You are not.” He placed his finger up against the angel’s lips before he could retort. “While in theory, I can see your plan being quite brilliant, in execution… Er… how _exactly_ do we keep her caged _in_?”

“Well, I was hoping that’s where you would come in. Surely you must know a thing or two about Knights of Hell. And, if all else fails, I’m sure we can avail ourselves of the Winchester’s library.”

“If she was a walkover, then believe me… she would never have been out to assault my personage. But it is an oversight I’m going to have to rectify. Well… I suppose the Winchesters would prefer she was out of action, more than they’d like to spite me by leaving her alive and kicking. Speaking of - do they know you came to find me?”

Cas shuffled. “They… yes. Sam does. I did not tell Dean. He was busy.” That was a lie. He’d avoided finding Dean so he wouldn’t have to say. 

“Alright. Let’s go find them, then? I’d like to make Dean eat humble pie about your eventual return to grace, but I have a feeling he’ll still try to take all the credit for it…”

Crowley snapped their clothes back on, and Cas sighed. 

“Okay.” The angel tucked his wings back away with care, then got to his feet, holding his hand out for his demon.

Crowley - who then seemed to be thinking about something - for all his attention seemed directed somewhere Cas couldn’t identify, but then…

“You should be able to find this place easier next time,” he said. “You know. If you want to visit.”

Cas beamed. Had Crowley just given him the keys to his hidden, secret apartment suite in Hell? He thought perhaps he had. “Of course I want to… well. I mean I’d rather not have to come to _Hell_ , but this bit’s not so bad.”

“Less screams of the damned here,” Crowley agreed.

“I think I could make you scream…”

“Maybe we should sort out the whole Abaddon problem before we… well. Get too distracted. We can’t just keep pushing her ahead, much as it would be nice. I think she’d get wise to it…”

“I suppose you’re right,” Cas agreed. He put his hand on Crowley’s shoulder and with an invisible flap of wings he closed the distance between them and the Winchesters in one.

***

“Put the champagne away,” Crowley told Dean. “Rumours of my death have been… you know the drill. Not like anyone seems to stay dead when they _do_ die around here.”

“Great,” Dean sighed. “Just what we need. Cas, I know you felt like you owed him, but did you really need to bring him back here?”

“Yes, Dean. I did. There is the pressing matter of Abaddon, and if we could all manage to work together on it, we could make the world as well as the Pit safer for everyone. And also: I like spending time with Crowley.”

Cas did wish the demon didn’t make the incredibly smug face he made, though, his head bouncing as he all but danced in victory.

“I’m going to need a book,” Crowley said, somehow choosing the path of least resistance by being the bigger man. Must have been the lingering afterglow from all the angel-loving. Suddenly, as if sensing a phantom itch, the demon shook out his trousers, causing a solitary raven black feather to float to the floor.

“Dude…” Dean began, only to be interrupted by Crowley’s elevated finger.

“A book on Egyptology. Pyramids to be exact. Little known fact is that Egyptian priests actually used ancient magic to bind and control the spirits of the Underworld, even Anubis himself.” He paused, nodding towards the brothers with that perfectly recognizable expression that plainly bespoke of ‘Are you morons following any of this?’ He looked over at Castiel for moral support. “Surely, the Men of Letters library must have some information on _bloody pyramids_!”

“Uh...y-yes, of course,” Sam finally interjected, his eyes also gliding away from the feather on the floor and towards his brother’s disturbed face. “I’ll show you our Egyptology section. It’s pretty thorough.”

“Thank you, Moose,” Crowley gave a curt bow in Sam’s direction, but prior to taking another step, “Oh, for the love of…” He reached somewhere into the folds of his finely tailored suit and produced another long, shining quill of an angel feather. “Castiel, darling, while I appreciate your territorial feelings of…”

“Nope!” Dean declared, shaking his head out as if to dislodge the thoughts taking up speedy residence in there. “Off you go with Sam! Cas and I are going to have _words_.” And he dragged the stunned angel into his own bedroom, slamming the door mercilessly behind them.

***

“Well. You do have a very nice selection of books,” Crowley said, approvingly. Sam had furnished a small mountain of them, and it was going to take all four of them some time to go through them, even with two supernatural beings.

“Yeah, say what you want about them, but the Men of Letters sure did research well.”

“And the decor is also very...hmm. How best to describe it? I suppose it’s retro now, but at the time it would have been very modern.”

“I guess. I mean. It’s okay. Nicer than some places we’ve stayed.”

From the room down the corridor there was another slamming sound. And some more high-pitched Dean noises. Castiel’s responses were too low to carry, but occasionally Dean’s objections started to approach bat-abuse pitch, and the odd word or phrase drifted down towards them.

Currently Dean was remonstrating something about ‘human-eating bastards’ and ‘lying, cheating sonofabitches’. Crowley could only assume he was referring to _Castiel_ , because Crowley was practically the model of the honest businessman.

“And the espresso machine is lovely,” Crowley added, tearing himself away from the cacophony in the distance.

“Yeah, it’s a nice touch,” Sam conceded.

“Thanks for the coffee, Moose,” the King of Hell toasted towards the younger Winchester with a cup that was far too large to hold the espresso. Well, one step at a time. Neanderthals did not evolve overnight either.

Something like a poorly repressed howl came out of Dean’s room, followed by more heated whispering that may as well have been shouting.

“Sure. Thanks for… you know… saving Cas?” Sam shrugged.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. This _was_ the superior Winchester, by far. He was happy he had saved him from the rapey angel. Now, why couldn’t the elder representative of his genetic line be so pleasant and reasonable?

“Yes, I think this will do just fine,” Crowley muttered, leafing through a tome that looked at least several centuries old and may or may not have been bound in human skin. “This would have taken you humans decades to build. Luckily, I have all the resources of Hell at my disposal.”

The door to Dean’s bedroom flew open with a loud bang.

“Hinges, Dean!” the younger Winchester shot in his sibling’s direction, with the mildly annoyed air of one all too used to chastising the other.

“If you hold still, I can heal your hand,” Castiel said, quickly following at the fuming hunter’s heels.

“Nope, serves me right for punching the wall.”

“You… punched a wall?” Sam’s eyes did something that was akin to a redirection on the way to a massive eye-roll, as if his better nature got the hold of him, and forced him to look concerned instead. All in all, it was a classic bitchface.

“I do wish that my own romantic entanglements weren’t responsible for your self-destructive urges,” Castiel muttered, fussing over the elder Winchester’s bleeding knuckles.

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean hissed, but finally conceding to letting the angel heal his hand, before he yanked it away and forcefully poked Crowley in the chest with a militantly extended finger. The demon’s eyebrows went up in an unspoken question. One could practically make out the smoke coming out of Dean’s nostrils.

After a few more moments of tense silence, the hunter lowered his finger from Crowley’s chest, and stoically stalked off.

“Well, I’m glad we had this talk!” Crowley called out after him.

“Don’t provoke him,” Cas ran a soothing hand over the nape of his demon’s neck, enjoying the way Crowley leaned into ever so slightly.

“Just give him a day, he’ll be fine,” Sam reassured the two supernatural beings in the room.

“We may not have a day,” Crowley bristled and shoved several tomes into Castiel’s arms. “Start reading, darling. We’re going to build a pyramid.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Long live the King,” said Castiel.

Abaddon snapped, hand lifted to smite the angel - but then was surprised to see the familiar walls of Hell vanish and in their place was polished yellow stone. She whirled on her heel and called out into the hollows of the corridor.

“Castiel! Come back here, you Heavenly pest!”

Only her echo responded.

“You coward! Come back and fight me!” she called out again.

Nothing.

Something shimmered down the hallway. Perhaps a shadow of a filthy, fallen angel’s grace? She walked on, unaware of the hieroglyphs guiding her. She would catch the pestering gnat and then have angel wings for her supper. The corridor diverged into a tri-fork in front of her. 

“You wanna play a game of cat and Knight of Hell?” She used all her senses to hone in on her enemy. Yes, clearly, he had gone down the fork on the right, and she ran after him into the labyrinth.

***

“So…” Sam tried to sum up the story. “She’s forever trapped in that pyramid, chasing you through some kind of a magical labyrinth hall of mirrors type thing?” 

“That’s right. The pyramid is designed to make her forget her true goal, which, in our case was to dethrone Crowley and rule Hell.” Castiel casually leaned against the wall of the bunker, beaming happily. “It’s just going to be her chasing my shadow for all eternity.”

“Unless,” Dean interjected, “Someone frees her.”

“You’d better make sure, then, that nothing happens to me,” Crowley intoned, enjoying another espresso at the kitchen counter (Sam really was too kind). “So long as I live, the pyramid stays in place.”

“Don’t be a Debbie Downer, Dean,” Sam plopped down onto the couch next to his brother. “This is a huge victory, all things considered.”

“Mmm,” Crowley nodded, “I’m pleased with the outcome.”

“In that case, put that espresso down, demon. We need a real drink!” Dean rose from the couch and went to get something from the bar. 

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “I doubt you have my brand.”

“Don’t underestimate the Men of Letters,” Dean replied, voice surprisingly devoid of rancor, as he lifted a bottle of aged Craig from the shelf. “Long live the King!”

***

The two humans, of course, had a significantly lower tolerance than the King of Hell and an angel. Although Dean did try to give Crowley a run for his money, and the demon had to admire his bull-headed devotion to his ego over his liver function. Eventually Sam scruffed Dean by his collar and tugged him away to leave the two lovebirds alone.

Which meant they were sitting at the table, nursing drinks that would only hit them if they let them. Without the social lubrication of mutual almost-antagonists… the conversation fell momentarily quiet.

“I suppose,” Crowley said, looking for answers in the amber liquid he loved so well, “that means that I’ve been semi-formally almost-slightly perhaps-occasionally adopted as a Winchester?” He shuddered. “I feel… dirty.”

“Plaid would not suit you,” Cas agreed.

“Oh god no. If you ever see me in plaid, you have my permission to exorcise me the Hell out of whatever body I’m in and make me think about what I’ve done.”

Cas was fighting a snicker at the thought of Crowley in - say - Sam’s shirt. And then a wave of sudden jealousy (he _had_ admired the younger Winchester, in some graphic detail) made him stop. And frown. He didn’t like the thought of Crowley and… Sam. Or Crowley and anyone. Even if they hadn’t - really - discussed their… relationship? Could you call it that? Mutual masturbation, mutual life-saving and then a quick but fervid fuck in Hell? 

It had been fun. The fucking. And the touching. It had been more than fun. It had been - hah - fucking incredible, and it still made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck and his balls ache when he thought about it. Cas had never really experienced his body’s libido before… before he’d had his Grace ripped out, so he’d been a little worried that with it back in place things would feel dull. Nope. Definitely not dull. If anything, there was an additional layer of sensation. And Cas didn’t want to stop the touching. Not if Crowley didn’t. And more than that, he…

Under the table, Crowley’s foot nudged into his ankle and made him jump. He realized he’d gone all insular and self-reflective, and he looked a little guilty and sheepish. And then he realized he was blushing because Crowley was inching that foot higher up his calf. It was making his mouth dry.

“I… promise I will make sure that your… impeccable fashion taste is preserved,” he offered. And then swallowed.

“So,” Crowley said, hands still around that glass and looking for all the world innocent and not like he was trying to find Cas’ groin with his instep, “I was wondering if you were… busy. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. The day that follows today.” But then he glanced over at the clock and realised technically… “Okay. Later today then.”

“When?” Cas nearly kicked himself. But it was too late to pull the words back now.

“About… six?”

“I… am fairly sure I am free then. Why?”

“I thought - perhaps - if you were free then we could…” The demon made some gesture with his hands that covered a whole range of nothing and everything in one. 

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even say ‘what’.”

“Well. You didn’t need to. I’d love to.”

“Oh. Well. Of course you would.”

Cas was _almost_ certain that Crowley had just asked him out on a date. Whether the date was just rampant, sweaty, screaming sex, or potentially a tour of the torture pits and some time spent feeding livers to Hellhounds… or maybe something more traditional? Well. Crowley was… different to other demons, and Cas didn’t think he’d have a reason to complain.

The angel needn’t have worried. Crowley had no intentions of being anything other than the perfect gentleman. Sweaty bumping and grinding was all well and good, but… _feelings_ were something else entirely. And the angel deserved to be courted. Properly. Hell, he was even going to bring out the good tie. The one he only wore on special occasions. He was very fond of that tie, and it did do nice things to his eyes, he thought. Yes. Definitely that one.

“So… is this when I say ‘your place or mine’?” Cas offered, hopefully. Not that this was really ‘his’ place, but it was the closest thing he had since Heaven was still… well. Heaven. He would need to go shopping again and buy the Winchesters a box of earplugs, as a gesture of solidarity.

“Depends if you’re considering trying to spend excessive amounts of time on the floor.”

“...there’s the bed. And the chair. And the couch. And the shower. And…”

“All of those things sound good,” Crowley agreed. 

“So,” Castiel felt the foot drift slowly to the floor and he rose out of the chair, his hand stretched out towards Crowley. “Why do we have to wait until six o’clock? The Winchesters are passed out and we have the place all to ourselves.”

“Castiel, I had no idea,” Crowley snarked, taking the proffered hand, “that you angels were so keen on it. You’re not even going to let me buy you dinner first?”

“I don’t eat,” Cas retorted.

“Fine. How about a movie?”

“I don’t see the point of living vicariously through fictitious romances of others when I can have actual gratification right here.”

Crowley shook his head and grit his teeth. He was _trying_ to do the _nice_ thing.

“Dammit, Cas… a nice walk on the beach then? Why are you making this so difficult?”

“I thought I was making it _easy_.”

“No, that’s making _you_ easy. There’s a difference.”

“Crowley… you spent two months inside my body and head. And then you took me home and gave me the keys to your place. If you insist on the whole… ‘romantic gestures’ thing then I’ll comply, of course… but I think we probably know one another better than most married couples do by now?”

The demon’s nose wrinkled at the memory. Oh yes. Not being able to hide a _single_ thing. Of course he remembered. “I suppose we did do things a little backwards.”

Cas did find it sweet, though, this sudden dogged insistence on doing the ‘proper’ thing. Crowley _had_ been human once - and for longer than him - after all. So it made some sense he still held on to some old-fashioned values.

“Well, you know what they say,” Cas replied with the tiniest of private smiles, “In for a penny…”

“... In for a pound,” Crowley replied, returning his smile and squeezing his hand.

There was no sense in looking a gift angel in the mouth, especially since that mouth probably currently tasted of delicious Craig. Later, there would be time for _proper_ romance, epic romance, the kind of romance that only two immortal creatures could ever cultivate. After all, they hadn’t saved each other for anything less than a happily (for)ever after.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it! Thanks for reading and commenting! You guys have been a blast and we hope you had fun too :)


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